Government and Society in Rural Palestine, 1920-1948 9780292769151

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Government and Society in Rural Palestine, 1920-1948

M odem Middle East Series, No. 9 Sponsored by the Center for Middle Eastern Studies The University of Texas at Austin

Government and Society in Rural Palestine 1920-1948 By YLANA N. MILLER

U niversity of Texas Press, Austin

For m y parents, Lily and A li Feiler

Copyright © 1985 by the University of Texas Press All rights reserved Printed in the United States of America First Edition, 1985 Requests for permission to reproduce material from this work should be sent to: Permissions University of Texas Press Box 7819 Austin, Texas 78713.

Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data Miller, Ylana N., 19 4 3 Government and society in rural Palestine, 1920-1948. (Modern Middle East series ; no. 9) Bibliography: p. Includes index. 1. Palestinian Arabs. 2. Palestine— Rural conditions. 3. Palestine— Politics and government. 4. Mandates— Palestine. I. Title II. Series: Modern Middle East series (Austin, Tex.); no. 9. DSI13.7.M54

1985

is b n 0 - 2 9 2 - 7 2 7 2 8 - 3

9 56. 94* 04

84-25805

Contents

Acknowledgments vii Introduction ix Part One: Community and the State 1. The Palestine Mandate, 1918-1948: A Political Overview 2. Nationalism and Village Society

3

16

Part Two: Government and Society, 1920-1936 3. The Formation of a Government

31

4. The Formation of a Public Service: Links to the Villages 5. Village Administration

71

6. Rural Education 90 Part Three: Government and Society, 1936-1948 7. The Arab Revolt

121

8. Government and Society: Interdependence during the War Years 139 Conclusion Notes

163

17 1

Bibliography Index 2 11

199

47

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Acknowledgments

Research for this study was conducted primarily at the Israel State Archives in Jerusalem and at the Public Records Office in London. I would like to thank the staffs of both archives for their help with the materials. Grants from the University of California, Berkeley, and from the Rutgers Research Council helped to support this re­ search as well as the writing of this manuscript. I would like also to thank Albert Hourani whose comments on an earlier version of this study helped clarify my approach to the sub­ ject. Since that time, several individuals have helped me in impor­ tant ways. I wish to express my deepest gratitude and appreciation to Rachelle Taqqu for her careful reading of the manuscript. Suad Joseph and Peter Gran provided thoughtful criticism and intellec­ tual sustenance at crucial times. In addition, Ira Lapidus read and commented on several earlier versions of this manuscript. Daniel Goodwin, editor at the Middle East Center of the University of Texas at Austin, was of great help in facilitating publication of the book. I have appreciated his careful attention to the manuscript and his skill in editing. It should be clear, however, that none of these individuals are in any way responsible for the content of the book. My husband, Martin, has lived with this book since its inception. His helpful criticism, patient readings, and unfailing support have contributed much more than I can record. My children, Joshua and Zina, have provided ever new perspectives on history and growth. To them my thanks for asking fresh questions.

Introduction

In 1947 Arabs made up two-thirds of the population of Palestine and owned most of its cultivable land. Why, then, did they "lose" their homes and land to a relatively small Jewish community just emerg­ ing from the shocks of World War II? Did the Palestinians "lose" their homeland because they were backward, primitive, and reac­ tionary? Or was Israel the product of persistent victimization of Pal­ estinian Arabs by an imperialist power that supported Zionist colo­ nization? Did the Palestinians sell each other out? Or were they helpless sufferers in the face of a sophisticated enemy with endless resources? Too often discussions of Palestine are couched in such rhetorical language with its assumption that either Jews or Arabs are morally to blame for historical realities. This study seeks to go beyond at­ tributions of responsibility to investigate the concrete conditions that determined and limited Palestinian Arab actions between 1920 and 1948. There are two basic assumptions to this investigation. The first is that since the majority of Palestinian Arabs were villagers throughout this period, it is impossible to answer these questions without understanding what villagers could and could not do. Sec­ ond, it is assumed that Palestinian Arabs were opposed to the Zionist movement from its beginnings in the area. An explanation for the outcome in Palestine will therefore be sought in an examination of the conditions that determined Palestinian Arab capacities to pro­ tect themselves effectively in the face of a perceived threat to their community. One of the most important factors, too often overlooked, that af­ fected Arab communal life in Palestine after World War I was the ex­ istence of a Palestine government controlled by British officials but staffed also by Palestinian Arabs and Jews. It is common to present the British in Palestine as mediators in a conflict between these two bitter rivals. In this view, the British were trapped in a clash for which they had some responsibility but to which they were out­ siders. This perspective merely reflects the view held and propagated

x

Introduction

by British administrators at the time, and it is based on the assump­ tion that a great power can control an area without affecting the daily life of its people. The Palestine government may indeed have been a conservative administration, with little intention of influencing Arab commu­ nity life except to reinforce its traditional structure. Yet precisely this effort to utilize traditional Arab leadership and strengthen cus­ tomary controls had serious negative consequences. An administra­ tion that entered Palestine with a full commitment to support the development of a Jewish National Home could hardly claim to be perpetuating the status quo. Yet this is what British officials publicly sought in the rural areas under their control. In fact Palestinian Arabs had to change after World War I, much as the rest of the Arab world had to adjust to a new international politi­ cal system. Throughout this part of the Middle East (in which the British and French held mandates) new state organizations came into conflict with traditional patterns of communal leadership. No state coincided with one clearly defined national group. For the individ­ ual, therefore, loyalty to culture, family, or religion was often in con­ flict with the responsibilities of citizenship in a new political orga­ nization. There was no ready identity between culture and state. While Palestinian Arabs shared this problem with other Arabs, they faced a specific challenge that set them apart. In Palestine, the British mandate incorporated a clear commitment to the Zionist movement. Thus Palestinians confronted European government and Jewish settlement simultaneously. The results permanently marked Palestinian Arab views of themselves and of others. The majority of the Palestinian population, which lived in vil­ lages, experienced the mandate and especially its end as a period of extreme inner division and discord. The divisions were not simply factional or traditional. What Palestinian Arab villagers sensed but could not articulate was the strain of responding to two very differ­ ent threats to tradition at the same time. Zionism pushed the Palestinian Arab community toward unity as a national and cultural group. It evoked a desire to pull together as Arabs against a people building its own national entity. To resist, Palestinian Arabs naturally looked to their traditional sources of strength, mobilizing along family and religious lines. In this sense, nationalism came to be equated with communal continuity. Al­ though the nationalist movement was factionalized, there was no se­ rious division on the question of Zionism. Yet under the mandate Arabs and Jews did not confront one an­ other as equals. The Jewish community was much smaller, but it

Introduction

xi

had its own political organization and financial resources. Palestinian Arabs were a larger, more stratified society that had to seek support from the government. Palestinian villagers in particular could obtain certain services only from the mandatory authorities. These ser­ vices did not come without a price. The British authorities consciously sought to protect the Arab population and to conserve its culture. Many officials were genu­ inely drawn to the style and substance of Arab life; their admiration for native crafts was entirely honest and they were unaware when they seemed patronizing. Yet the effort to preserve the village as an idealized way of life was bound to fail. Every step the Palestine gov­ ernment took or failed to take contributed to this eventuality. The Palestine government, once established, became a focus for nationalist action and demand. The relationship between nationalist leaders and the government was ambivalent: the nationalist lead­ ership sought recognition from the mandatory authorities while at the same time opposing them. More significantly, the government gradually became a focus for village hopes of salvation from natural and man-made threats. As the Palestine government absorbed Arabs into its administration, it began to function as a political organiza­ tion with the potential to replace the older style of personal notable authority. Villagers who began to want technical aid and economic development to resist what they saw as Jewish encroachment looked to the government for help. The British were not prepared to encourage social change, how­ ever, and the government acted to stem such aspirations, especially in rural areas. While the very existence of a local government em­ ploying Arabs evoked hope for protection, the actual policies fol­ lowed by that government served to undermine or limit most village initiatives before 1939. As a result, the first twenty years of the man­ date gave rise to a complex and conflictive relationship between Pal­ estinian Arabs and the Palestine government. On the one hand, Palestinians of various classes looked to the government for aid; on the other hand, they became frustrated and viewed it as responsible for the Zionist presence. The ultimate effect of this relationship was to divide the Pales­ tinian Arab population in new ways. Consciously, the British main­ tained religious and regional differences among Arabs. Uninten­ tionally, they introduced a new form of political organization that helped fragment the potential Arab leadership along new lines: on the one hand, Arab officials who served the Palestine government be­ gan to develop skills and ties that would prepare them to serve in a new, limited Palestinian nation-state; on the other hand, nationalist

xii

Introduction

leaders who remained outside the official structure maintained PanArab ties and continued to rely on family and religious links for their authority. These were overlapping and closely tied groups that never­ theless had different objective social and political roles to play. For a variety of reasons, the government of Great Britain altered its policy on Palestine in 1939. The white paper issued in that year sought to limit further development of the Jewish National Home and permitted the Palestinian Arabs to hope for independent state­ hood. This change coincided with the temporary defeat of the Pal­ estinian nationalist movement, which enhanced the position of Arab government officials in rural areas. Neither the nationalist leadership nor Arab officials could ever fully articulate the changes occurring among Palestinian villagers; nor could they respond to these changes in a politically effective manner. The fact that both groups existed, each representing a sepa­ rate way of organizing political action, meant that neither could suc­ ceed. It meant that the mandate had given rise to the promise of a new state without allowing the Arab population to define clearly what kind of state it would be or how to defend it. In the short run the course of the mandate made it likely that Pal­ estinian Arabs would lose in 1947/8. After thirty years of intensive inner change and struggle, their community could not unite effec­ tively, which meant that no leadership could either accept partition or organize successful resistance to it. In the long run, however, the same process ensured that Palestinian Arabs would continue to fight for their own state and to seek to redo what they saw as a failure. The generation that fought and lost in 1948 could not see that it was in a situation of no possible victory. Throughout the mandate Pal­ estinian Arabs felt trapped between a Zionist movement that spoke of progress, thus evoking a traditional resistance, and a British au­ thority that preached tradition, thus provoking a desire for change. Whatever they did, therefore, Palestinian Arabs felt themselves in­ vaded by foreign power and values. The chapters that follow explain only one part of this develop­ ment. They are concerned with the impact of the Palestine gov­ ernment on village community life and the way in which Arab offi­ cials came to represent modern bureaucracy and law in rural areas. The story is one of tension, strain, and confusion. Part of the argu­ ment is, in fact, that the level of conflict that pervaded village exis­ tence mounted under the mandate, while the capacity to articulate and resolve conflict decreased. It has often been shown that Palestine underwent a substantial

Introduction

xiii

economic development under the mandate that was directly or indi­ rectly the product of Zionist investment. Yet this socioeconomic change was not matched by the broader development of popular in­ tellectual or political capacities to assimilate it. On the contrary, educational policies were clearly oriented toward minimizing aware­ ness of the changes occurring throughout Palestine. Here again Pal­ estinian Arab villagers felt caught between the effects of Zionist ac­ tivity and government policy. Reconstruction of the changes undergone by villagers is, of course, made difficult by the lack of a written record and by the fact that vil­ lage interests were often expressed by individuals removed from rural life. As a result, the evidence is fragmentary and requires interpretive connection. Much of this study is necessarily based on the unpub­ lished record of government policy and action, which elicited direct responses from villagers as well as indirect comment on changes in rural areas. Yet we find that even a disconnected record of behavior in a variety of areas shows patterns that reveal the changing atti­ tudes of Palestinian villagers. In order to discover such patterns, this book examines the interchange between government officials and villagers, deliberately concentrating on the way in which each party affected and shaped the other, albeit in entirely unequal ways. The emphasis here is on the relation of the rural sector to the national context rather than on the internal dynamics of village society. In the context of Palestine as a whole, Arab villagers may often have been powerless, but they did not passively accept loss of control over their own lives. Despite constant efforts to cope with new chal­ lenges, however, they did ultimately lose confidence in their ability to control either the nature or the pace of change in their lives. This study is designed to enhance our understanding of that process.

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1. The Palestine Mandate, 1918-1948: A Political Overview

Palestine after the War In the twentieth century, Arab-Jewish conflict has dominated the history of Palestine. That conflict, between Jews wishing to create or maintain a national home and Arabs wishing to retain or regain their homes in Palestine, has always actively involved one or more outside powers. For a significant period of time, the third force in the conflict was Great Britain, which administered the League of Nations man­ date for Palestine.1 During World War I, representatives of the Zionist movement had won official British recognition of their aims in Palestine. The Bal­ four Declaration, which was issued on November 2, 1917, promised that Great Britain would "view with favour the establishment in Pal­ estine of a national home for the Jewish people."2 This position was also accepted by the French and American governments. After the war the Allies reaffirmed their support for the development of a Jew­ ish National Home by incorporating appropriate provisions into the Palestine mandate. Each of the three groups that were to coexist in Palestine through­ out the mandate—the Jews, the Arabs, and the British—entered the postwar period with its own historical experiences. Jewish immi­ grants came to the area not only to escape persecution but also to create their own society, free from the restraints they had experi­ enced as a minority. Although they remained a numerical minority in Palestine, the mandate's promise that they could enter rightfully meant to them that Jewish national life could be reconstructed with­ out constraint. The Zionist movement began with a strong ideologi­ cal base and sought to create the socioeconomic conditions required for its survival. It was in Palestine that the assertion of Jewish na­ tionhood would have to be tested. Spokesmen for the Arab population of Palestine rejected the man­

4

Community and the State

date and its terms from the beginning. Hostility to Zionist aspira­ tions was part of a general Arab feeling of vulnerability in the face of foreign control over the area. Although Arab nationalist leaders had sought separation from the Ottoman Empire, they had not antici­ pated fragmentation into a number of states. Such division weakened an already small leadership. At the same time, the general popu­ lation of Palestine was still adjusting to its new status as a separate territorial entity. Although Palestinian Arabs were divided by class and region, they shared deep cultural affinities with the larger Mus­ lim and Arab populations formerly contained within the Ottoman Empire. They were now faced with the need to redefine their com­ munity as more extensive than the immediate environment but more limited than an empire. The mandate was to determine whether they could make this transition and then embody it in a politically effec­ tive movement. The British officials who served in the mandatory government rep­ resented a country long experienced in colonial rule. Their view of Palestine was colored by a belief in their own usefulness to the local population and a firm commitment to govern effectively. For most, the task at hand was one of administration. Local politics was often viewed as an impediment to efficiency and nationalist claims as in­ trusive. Although individuals held personal opinions gained during their service, the role of the government came to be seen by its repre­ sentatives as one of mediation between conflicting groups.3 The distinctive nature of each group's expectations and conse­ quent actions created a situation in which few assumptions could be shared. Among the most tenacious problems was the difference in perceptions of power in the area. Arabs and Jews both saw them­ selves at different times as the more vulnerable. Although each looked to the British for protection, it was with the ambivalence of dependents hoping for eventual freedom from the need for outside support. Both hoped to achieve their own goals through influence over the mandatory authorities rather than by addressing one an­ other directly. The British, in contrast, took for granted their own power to control, assuming a position of distanced authority. Thus, although the mandatory government took responsibility for concrete action, the broader implications of its existence were rarely con­ fronted. In fact, the existence of a Palestine government, whoever controlled it, created the conditions for the emergence of a new state. Conflict over the inheritance of this structure existed until it was finally dissolved.

The Palestine Mandate

5

The Twenties The British exercised power in Palestine on the basis of a League of Nations mandate. Although the mandate officially extended to the territory of Trans-Jordan, the areas east of the Jordan River were sepa­ rated from the rest of Palestine by article 25 of the mandate. As a result, Hashemite control was established over this area to which the provisions for a Jewish National Home were never applied. In areas not so excluded, the mandate obligated the Palestine govern­ ment to encourage the development of a Jewish National Home by facilitating Jewish immigration and close settlement on the land; this was to be accomplished without prejudice to the civil and reli­ gious rights of the existing inhabitants. The provisions for adminis­ tration of the mandate again included two specific directives: a Jew­ ish agency was to aid the Palestine government in matters connected with the Jewish National Home, while at the same time measures were to be taken for the creation of self-governing institutions.4 Arab opposition to the proposed changes in Palestine was manifest in the outbreak of Arab-Jewish fighting in May 1921. The official terms of the mandate did little to dissipate nationalist concern, which focused on the distinctions made by the League between the mandate for Palestine and those for neighboring areas. To clarify British intentions the colonial secretary, Winston Churchill, issued a white paper on Palestine in 1922. In it he reiterated earlier British assurances that the Arab population would not be subordinated to Jewish immigrants. British policy on immigration was also more carefully defined; it was stated explicitly that entry would be limited by the economic absorptive capacity of the country.5 The problems confronting the Palestine administration quickly became evident. By 1923 it was clear to the first high commissioner, Herbert Samuel, that Arabs and Jews would resist participation in a united framework. In that year elections to a legislative council were scheduled by the government. The council would have been composed of Arab, Jewish, and official representatives, but its pre­ rogatives would have been limited by the requirements of the man­ date. The Arab Executive therefore organized a boycott, which suc­ ceeded in putting a temporary end to proposals for a nationally elected legislative body. All Samuel's efforts to establish national elective or advisory institutions failed in this first five-year period. The conflicting needs and demands of the two Palestinian commu­ nities helped to determine the tenor of British policy as well as the structural relationship between them. In recognition of existing dif­ ferences, Samuel adopted a policy of presumed balance and equality,

6

Community and the State

but one that assumed total separation of the two communities. The British were to remain mediators between the two groups, inter­ preting their own dual obligations as separate but compatible re­ sponsibilities. The mandatory administration thus defined itself as patron to two clients, each with legitimate claims that could be met by a nonpartisan authority. This theoretical position was concretely reinforced in a number of ways. The mandate, for instance, had re­ quired the protection of cultural identity, which meant that the two communities were permitted to maintain separate school systems, each with its own language. Similarly, the permission for Jewish settlement, along with the issuance of immigration certificates, con­ tributed to the creation of Jewish enterprises that were distinct from the Arab agricultural economy.6 The twenties proved to be a key period for the Jewish settlement in Palestine. As the mandate took shape and Jewish migration to Pal­ estine turned out to be more limited than had been feared, the Arab nationalist movement declined in activity. Rivalries between two prominent families—the Husaynis and the Nashashibis—reasserted themselves in the form of nationalist factions. The initial mobiliza­ tion against the mandate was followed by five relatively peaceful years. During this interim the Jewish community created the in­ frastructure that would later support a much larger population. For Zionists the Balfour Declaration and the mandate signified in­ ternational recognition of Jewish national rights in Palestine. By im­ plication, the World Zionist Organization gained status as the body responsible for transforming the Jewish community of Palestine into a viable national entity. But those who hoped for the creation of a Jewish state quickly realized that they would have to work around serious resistance. Defense units, which were created to protect Jew­ ish settlements, testified to their physical vulnerability. Political or­ ganizations, which monitored British policy to assure its conformity to the mandate, reflected a fear of losing position in the eyes of Brit­ ish officials. Also, Jewish immigration was limited in the twenties, averaging about ten thousand a year. The Yishuv (Jewish settlement) did not expand rapidly in this first and freest decade, but its national character was very clear. The parties, youth organizations, schools, kibbutzim, labor unions, and newspapers of the Zionist movement were solidly established. After 1927 a national council of elected members began to serve as a forum for internal political life.7 Official interactions of new Jewish settlers with the Arab popula­ tion were limited and colored largely by the immigrants' desire to mitigate hostility to their presence. Although some individuals ar­ gued for the need to win Arab acceptance of their endeavor, the ma­

The Palestine Mandate

7

jority stressed the need for separate development. There was little hope that the Arab nationalist leadership would ever support Jewish settlement, although it was believed that economic prosperity might defuse popular hostility.8 One of the most confusing aspects of the Palestine conflict from its beginning was the tendency for both sides to use ostensibly con­ crete economic indicators for polemical purposes. Two issues espe­ cially subject to Arab-Jewish disagreement were immigration and land sales. In the twenties neither proved to be as threatening as Arab spokesmen had anticipated. Jewish interest in migration to Pal­ estine was limited, while a depression in 1927 caused greater emi­ gration than entry into the country. At the same time, early transfers of land were dominated by purchases from non-Palestinians and large landowners. Despite the emphasis of Zionism on agricultural work, most of the Jewish population remained urban; the creation of industry was to play an important part in the economic base of the Jewish National Home.9 The significance of these changes went beyond the numbers of dunams sold or of immigrants arriving in the growing cities. For the Arab population, the expanding Jewish presence in Palestine repre­ sented a cultural intrusion that qualified their assessment of ma­ terial gains or losses. The problems that developed could not be explained as the results of economic dislocation alone; concrete changes were interpreted in a context that gave them additional meaning. This context was directly influenced by British official un­ derstanding of the government's task in the country. The British administration, which drew on local resources for sup­ port, concentrated on achieving efficiency in the collection of revenue and the provision of necessary services. These tasks had unequal effects on the two Palestinian groups. While the Jewish population could depend on outside resources to support its goals, the Arab community was almost entirely dependent on the government for the collection of taxes and expenditure of funds. The result was a necessarily closer but more paternalistic relationship with the Arab population than with the more self-sufficient Yishuv. Politically, the British hoped to win over representatives of the major Palestinian Arab families and then, with their cooperation, to fulfill their aim of building an efficient administrative structure. They failed to real­ ize, however, that while they were asking Arab leaders to play a secondary role in the mandatory government, the Jewish National Home was developing autonomously. This gave rise to unforeseen consequences. The British in Palestine were faced with responsibility for a limited

8

Community and the State

agricultural economy and a population that to a large degree lived at subsistence level. Their obligation to support intensive agriculture and land transfer inevitably introduced new realities to a rural popu­ lation long used to traditional methods of cultivation. Beyond the number of Arab villagers directly displaced from their land, there were many more who experienced stress due to indirect effects of the mandate on their way of life. For example, the Palestine government sought to register land for purposes of taxation and encouraged the partition of collectively held lands. These measures were intended to aid economic development, but they also made the Arab villagers more vulnerable. Tenants in particular suffered from the loss of land sold by large owners. They normally got some form of compensa­ tion, but this did not prevent dislocation.10 There was another side to the land sales, however, which became increasingly significant. The development of an active market in land led to sales at substantial profit by notables who had no direct interest in cultivation. Some were nationalist leaders, who saw no apparent contradiction between their political stand and the use of immediate opportunities. There resulted a growing turnover of land within the Arab community as well as between Jews and Arabs, in­ creasing class division, and demoralization over the inability to achieve unity to stop these sales.11 Only toward the end of the twenties did Arab nationalists succeed temporarily in overcoming their earlier divisions and formulating a new program for action. In 1928 participants in the Seventh Pales­ tinian Congress agreed to work toward immediate changes within the context of the mandate, although they also continued to oppose its provisions as a whole. In the same year, then, members of the Arab Executive entered into new discussions concerning a legis­ lative council with the third high commissioner for Palestine, Sir John Chancellor. Chancellor, who had come to the country in 1927 during a period of calm, was anxious to cement ties of cooperation with Palestinian Arab leaders. By the fall of 1928, however, Arab-Jewish tension began to mount again. Disagreement over the conditions for Jewish access to the Wailing Wall in Jerusalem escalated until, a year later, the conflict exploded in a series of riots and massacres. The violence came as a shock to the British, who had withdrawn large contingents of troops in 1927. They had believed that Arab discontent with the mandate could be resolved through negotiation with a small group of leaders, and Chancellor was acting accordingly. The outbreak of popular violence throughout the country could only be explained in one of two ways, neither of them compatible with administration assump­

The Palestine Mandate

9

tions. Either Arab nationalist leaders had orchestrated the attacks and hence could not be relied on by the government; or the distur­ bances were spontaneous and not amenable to control by notables, an equally discomforting idea. Although the idiom of disaffection in 1929 was religious, its substantive implications went far beyond rit­ ual issues. Haj Amin al-Husayni, the Mufti of ferusalem, was a sig­ nificant figure in the nationalist movement, and there could be little doubt that the attacks on Jews in 1929 were intimately connected to a growing opposition to Zionism.12 The British belatedly recognized this state of affairs after the vio­ lence was brought under control. The Wailing Wall riots thus marked the start of a new phase in the history of the mandate and in British policy. They shattered eight years of calm, making it clear that peace was only temporary. The fighting in Palestine caused a suspension of the discussions concerning a legislative council. Chancellor re­ turned from London to Palestine to help restore order. There he an­ nounced that a royal commission headed by Sir Walter Shaw would conduct an inquiry into the causes of the riots and massacres. The commission's report, submitted in March 1930, ranged far beyond an explanation of the immediate issues. Instead, the Shaw Commission Report stressed the social and economic problems generated by Jew­ ish immigration. Its conclusions accorded with the high commis­ sioner's belief that limitations should be placed on both Jewish im­ migration and the transfer of land.13 For the first time the British government publicly began to evalu­ ate the socioeconomic impact of its policy on the Palestinian popu­ lation. The colonial secretary, Lord Passfield, and the high commis­ sioner in Palestine shared a skeptical attitude toward the Zionist enterprise. This inclination to reopen the question of British com­ mitments permeated the aftermath of the Wailing Wall riots. The Shaw Commission Report was followed by a series of investigations designed to establish the truth of its conclusions and provide the basis for a new policy. In April 1930 the colonial secretary appointed Sir John Hope Simpson to report on immigration and land settle­ ment in Palestine. Simpson's conclusions, submitted in August, sup­ ported the view that Palestine could not absorb many more immi­ grants. His appraisal was in agreement with the opinions, of the high commissioner and the colonial secretary. Accordingly, in October 1930 the Colonial Office issued a new statement of policy on Pal­ estine, the Passfield White Paper, which went a long way toward meeting Arab demands for limitations on Jewish immigration and land purchase. No sooner had the colonial secretary offered these substantial revi­

10

Community and the State

sions of policy, however, than the prime minister retracted them. In the face of strong Zionist arguments that the new policy was contrary to British obligations under the mandate, Prime Minister Ramsay MacDonald wrote what came to be known to Palestinian Arabs as the "black letter." The letter, addressed to the Zionist leader Dr. Chaim Weizmann, reinterpreted the white paper so as to reassure Zionist leaders that its key provisions would not be implemented.14 In the end, the manner in which the British responded to the events of 1929 created greater suspicion of their intentions among Jews as well as Arabs. Withdrawal of the promises made in the white paper renewed the Arab community's sense of betrayal. Threatened curtailment of the Jewish National Home created greater urgency for the Yishuv. The British had made implicit promises to both but could satisfy neither. Moreover, the investigations of the early thir­ ties had focused attention on an area that the Palestine government had largely neglected—the growing disparity between needs and re­ sources in Arab villages. The Thirties and Beyond In the decade from 1929 to 1939, irreversible changes occurred in Palestine. During this period the Palestine government lost control over parts of the country, the two national communities lost faith in the British, and the Jewish National Home achieved decisive proportions. The Palestinian Arab nationalist movement expanded significantly in the thirties. Although it continued to be led by a small elite, it became more radical, more popular, and more insistent about eco­ nomic issues. The antagonism to Zionism was now reinforced by a growing gap between the two communities and by concrete griev­ ances. By the beginning of the decade, small landowners had begun to sell land in greater numbers; the capital they acquired was used to pay off debts, for investment, or for consumption. By this time, too, a large increase in population and the urban growth stimulated by Jew­ ish development had begun to dislocate villagers. Some began to mi­ grate to the cities for temporary employment, while others who found themselves landless became seasonal workers. Such changes stimulated a growing consciousness of Jewish activism, which con­ tributed to a broadening of Arab organizations in the form of politi­ cal parties, youth movements, and labor unions. While these were not altogether effective, they lent the nationalist movement a scope it had hitherto lacked.15 At the same time, the Zionist movement maintained its own mo­

The Palestine Mandate

11

mentum. The thirties saw a massive increase in immigration due to events in Europe; in 1933, thirty thousand Jewish immigrants en­ tered Palestine, contributing to an urban boom that was in diametric contrast to the country's agricultural depression. The institutions of the Jewish National Home were largely created in the twenties, but the population to support them entered in the thirties and gave renewed substance to Arab fears. These were expressed in the urban riots of 1933, which gave rise to direct Arab attacks on the British authorities. Youthful activism played an important role in stimulat­ ing this renewed violence, which was coupled with a boycott of Jew­ ish goods.16 The thirties provide a clear example of how particular historical circumstances helped to shape the conflict. This was a time of in­ tense Jewish fear matched by Arab anxiety and discontent. Once the Nazis came to power in Germany, the lack of asylum elsewhere gen­ erated pressure for increased immigration to Palestine. Simultane­ ously, the high rate of Arab population growth, coupled with the land sales and agrarian depression mentioned earlier, gave rise to con­ siderable rural distress. The postponement of a legislative council after the riots of 1929 left a population that was increasingly orga­ nized but without legitimate expression; British insistence on main­ taining traditional leadership as much as possible left Palestinian Arabs little room to cope with the growing differentiation of their community. In early 1936 a new effort to establish a legislative council foun­ dered, this time on British and Jewish opposition. While the official Arab leadership was still debating its reaction to this setback, a number of violent incidents between Arabs and Jews quickly led into a more organized resistance movement. Earlier debates and prepara­ tions now bore fruit in the Arab revolt that spread throughout the country. The goal of the rebels, as articulated by the newly formed Higher Arab Committee, was to force a change in British policy with regard to Jewish immigration, land transfers, and the development of representative government.17 The Arab revolt broke out in the spring of 1936, quieted down temporarily in October 1936, and then resumed in full force from the fall of 1937 until the middle of 1939. It included Arab initiatives on three fronts. First, there was a six-month general strike, which lasted from April until October of 1936. Second, organized guerrilla bands effectively took over large sections of rural Palestine and inter­ fered with transport throughout the country, first in the summer of 1936 and then more thoroughly in 1938. Third, Palestinian national­ ist leaders succeeded in gaining the active involvement of Arab kings

12

Community and the State

in Iraq, Saudi Arabia, and Trans-Jordan in their movement; at the popular level, Syrian and Iraqi volunteers fought along with Pales­ tinians in the armed bands. In addition, much of the arms and am­ munition used by rebels was smuggled in from neighboring states. Throughout the revolt, urban nationalist leaders sought to use and control forces whose interests coincided only partially with their own. As long as they were successful, the revolt appeared to be the expression of a unified Arab resistance to the terms of the mandate. When they failed, the fragility of the movement became evident. During the initial stage of the revolt in 1936, nationalist commit­ tees sprang up in the towns to oversee the strike while in the country­ side militant bands violently attacked British and Jewish targets. The strike and the later boycott of Jewish enterprise were successful as forms of nationalist protest, but they failed to inflict lasting harm on the Jewish economy. In fact the Jewish community developed even greater autonomy as a result of this forced self-reliance. After six months Arab merchants and villagers tired of the strike, which was inflicting greater economic hardship on them than on their op­ ponents. At the same time, British countermeasures were discourag­ ing the rebels in rural areas. To avoid disintegration of the resistance, the nationalist leadership enlisted the help of Arab statesmen to bring the strike to a graceful end. At the request of the Palestinians, the rulers of Saudi Arabia, Iraq, Trans-Jordan, and Yemen officially asked for an end to the strike; the Palestinians then complied and avoided defeat. Shortly thereafter a royal commission chaired by Earl Peel (former secretary of state for India) began its investigation of the situation in Palestine. The Royal (Peel) Commission arrived in Palestine in November 1936 and issued its final report in July of the following year.18 For the first time, an official body publicly recognized the incompatibility of Britain's dual responsibilities in Palestine. As a result, the commis­ sion recommended the partition of Palestine into a large Arab state and a smaller Jewish state, with a truncated mandate for the holy places. This solution met with bitter opposition from the dominant groups in the Arab nationalist movement. In the fall of 1937 the re­ volt intensified, with the resumption of widespread attacks on gov­ ernment installations and personnel. From the fall of 1937 until the fall of 1938 the rebels became effec­ tive enough to shut down police stations, interfere with transporta­ tion, and temporarily dominate large sections of towns, while con­ trolling the hilly regions where villages predominated. Although they never had the resources to create an alternative political struc­ ture, they did develop their own leadership and impose their own

The Palestine Mandate

13

law in areas under their control. Although the guerrilla bands drew most of their members from the Palestinian village population, their relationship to the villagers changed over the course of the rebellion. As they became more dependent on local resources to keep going, they became more forcible in collecting funds from villagers as well as from the urban population. As the bands became more effective, they alienated potential supporters by their forced exactions, caus­ ing many of those who could to flee the country. The power of the guerrilla forces also grew in 1938 because the urban nationalist leadership had either been deported or forced to flee by the British after the murder of Lewis Andrews, acting district commissioner, in the fall of 1937. In place of the civilian administra­ tion and a nationalist leadership who understood one another, the Arab population now had to contend with guerrilla bands on the one hand and the British military on the other. The struggle between the two armed forces particularly injured villagers, whom the rebels co­ erced into helping them and the military punished without concern for individual responsibility. Eventually, political differences within the Arab leadership com­ bined with village disenchantment to foster the formation of anti­ rebel peace bands. This opposition movement further divided the Arab population and helped to bring the revolt to an end. By this time the British military had in any case gained the upper hand against the rebels. Moreover, the need to prepare for the coming war in Europe impelled the British government to take steps to end the Palestinian conflict. The Arab revolt was significant not only for its final results but also for what it revealed about the Arab community. It was the first instance of sustained guerrilla violence, which brought whole re­ gions together under the control of various bands. An extreme hos­ tility to collaboration emerged as Arab officials were killed along with British officials. At the same time, divisions among Palestinian Arabs themselves were exposed and deepened. These were not only family divisions but generational and social divisions as well—the political factions attacked one another, the landless attacked the privileged, the dispossessed killed those with official positions. At its beginning the revolt drew the Arab leadership together; but as it progressed the internal conflict showed clearly the absence of stable political structures. It also revealed intense strain within the Arab community and the difficulty of finding meaningful resolutions. By 1939 international circumstances, in conjunction with local developments, had brought about a major change in British policy toward Palestine. Plans for partition were abandoned as imprac­

14

Community and the State

ticable; instead the British government issued a new white paper that established limits to the Jewish National Home. The white paper proposed the institution of constitutional changes to permit self-government in Palestine within ten years. In the meantime, up to seventy-five thousand Jewish immigrants would be permitted to enter for five years; then immigration would cease unless approved by the Arab community. Land transfer was to be limited to defined areas.19 The new British position was formulated in a period dominated by the expectation of war in Europe. Zionists denounced the new policy and vowed to fight it. Arab nationalists found the provisions for fur­ ther Jewish immigration disappointing. The Permanent Mandates Commission of the League of Nations also found the statement of 1939 to be contrary to the terms of the mandate. Active responses to the change in British policy were necessarily delayed or suspended by the overriding demands of the war. Never­ theless, local implementation of the policy must be understood in the context of a general emphasis on immediate priorities and short-term goals. Although it appeared that British policy now sup­ ported Arab hopes for eventual statehood and dominance in Pal­ estine, it was not at all clear how the British would respond if faced with determined opposition to this plan. For the Palestinian Arab community, the war was a time of sub­ stantial economic growth. Britain's new policy and the lack of na­ tionalist leadership led to concentration on pragmatic issues rather than political organization. Wartime needs contributed to an in­ crease in the overall standard of living, and many villagers paid off their debts in this period. The growth of labor unions and more radi­ cal political groups also indicated a measure of social change.20 These developments were utterly in contrast to the experience of the Jewish population during the same period. The policy change of 1939 came at a particularly cruel moment in Jewish history, just when the need of refugees for shelter was most pressing. The earlier gradualism seemed inadequate in the face of persecution, and Zion­ ists consequently became increasingly militant during the war. David Ben Gurion spoke for many when he articulated a dual policy of op­ posing the British white paper while cooperating with the British war effort. In 1942 the Zionist movement adopted the Biltmore program, which incorporated an explicit demand for a Jewish state. This state­ ment, adopted in New York, represented a shift by the Zionist lead­ ership from reliance on Great Britain to the search for American sup­ port. In Palestine itself the forties witnessed the growth of Jewish

The Palestine Mandate

15

terrorism aimed at the British. Although many in the Jewish com­ munity deplored the use of violence, these attacks accurately re­ flected their growing desperation and feelings of betrayal by the British.21 The end of the war brought a changed international situation and renewed pressure on the British to admit Jewish refugees into Pal­ estine. Considerable tension developed between the American and British governments over this matter. Jewish militancy and Ameri­ can pressure led to intense frustration on the part of the British, who were well aware that Palestinian Arabs would not quietly accept ei­ ther a Jewish state or further immigration. Unwillingness to invest in endless peace-keeping actions coupled with the desire to retain support in the Arab world created an unresponsive mood among many British officials regarding the Jewish refugee problem. The Arabs in Palestine were misled by illusions of British and Arab sup­ port for their cause. It therefore came as something of a shock when the British handed the problem over to the United Nations in 1947. Although this move may have represented more a tactic than a deci­ sion to actually leave the area, it ultimately led to the partition of Palestine. The war in 1947-48 was in many ways an outgrowth of man­ datory policies. The victory of the Jewish community in the war was due to its coherence, its institutional base, and its preparation. These had all been achieved during the mandate. For the Palestinian Arabs the experience had been very different: their traditional leadership and structure were in the midst of transformation, giving rise to in­ ternal conflict. Social and economic changes were not yet reflected in a coherent political movement. Despite fierce resistance before May 15, 1948, they failed therefore to prevent not only the declara­ tion of the state of Israel but also the loss of what might have been an Arab Palestine to Jordan. The war of 1947-48 erased Palestine as a political entity from the map, but it could not undo the experiences of those who had lived with Palestine as a daily reality. In any history of the Palestine man­ date, it is imperative to understand that neither Palestinian Arabs nor Palestinian Jews were the same in 1948 as they had been in 1920. The communities and their views of one another were decisively shaped by thirty years of British administration.

2. Nationalism and Village Society

The Arab Community in Palestine The League of Nations mandate for Palestine created a political au­ thority with no local legitimacy or inherent connection to the so­ ciety it embodied. It included an international commitment to the creation of a Jewish National Home, which further confused the defi­ nition of this new state and raised questions for the majority of its population. Once the mandate was in force, the Palestinian Arab leadership had to formulate an explanation of these major changes that would be meaningful to its constituency. Palestinian Arabs inherited a society formed by historical inclu­ sion in wide-ranging empires with ill-defined boundaries. Local ties were well established, creating a network that had been connected to Istanbul through a relatively narrow set of personal intermediaries. The villager who needed help in negotiating government demands turned, directly or indirectly, to notable patrons. The term notable is applied to members of those families that had achieved wealth, dis­ tinction, and power in the empire. Their position was based on con­ trol over land and access to government offices, both secular and reli­ gious. Such prominent families usually lived in the cities, where proximity facilitated the personal process of decision making. Politi­ cal and economic relationships thus remained embedded in layers of the community defined by family, religion, and region. An indi­ vidual's opportunities were usually the product of background and/or connections, and the exercise of power was most effective when coupled with sensitivity to established custom. Traditionally, the individual acted as part of a local or kinship group that operated within a larger-scale cultural community. The broadest identifications tended to be religious, but within this cul­ tural community socioeconomic divisions were paramount in deter­ mining relationships. Ottoman notables, whether from Jerusalem or

Nationalism and Village Society

17

Damascus, were distinguished by common privilege. Similarly, the Muslim village population, particularistic in its concerns, was still characterized by common customs and family patterns. Even lan­ guage reflected these horizontal divisions. The transformation of this structure, after World War I, into a tightly woven, homogeneous unit, separated from others that shared its history, was neither spontaneous nor independent. Coercion by Western government together with the development of a new eco­ nomic system disrupted earlier relationships and led to a search for social values that would secure the survival of an Arab com­ munal structure. It was in this postwar context that Palestinian Arabs adopted nationalist identifications. In the period with which this study is concerned Palestinian Arab society remained suspended between cultural unity and social divi­ sion. Although a small, educated group adopted new nationalist identifications from the beginning, it could only be effective by con­ vincing the village majority to give up smaller collectivities in order to merge as individuals into a broader political movement. This effort was impeded, however, by division within the potential politi­ cal leadership. The Arab Nationalist Response to Rural Needs Arab nationalism in Palestine began as one part of a movement that originated in the Ottoman Empire, but it soon developed into a unique blend of two strains: solidarity with the nationalist aims of other mandated areas came to be mixed with feelings of ambivalence and uniqueness because only Palestine faced the direct intrusion of Zionism. The Palestinian Arabs did not succeed in formulating a distinctive ideology, but they differed from other Arab nationalist groups in important respects. Unlike more theoretical nationalists, the Palestinians tended to focus on immediate political problems, which came to include economic issues. They also spent relatively little time analyzing the relationship between religion and nation­ alism; instead, they utilized religious loyalties while building an in­ creasingly secular movement. Although the result was effective at times, it ultimately proved to be unstable and ephemeral. The implications of the mandate for Palestine were apparent to Arab leaders from the beginning; it was partly for this reason that they felt compelled to act rather than formulate. Although popular fears of Jewish immigration were expressed at first in direct, semispontaneous attacks on Jews, the Arab nationalist movement soon oriented itself in two basic directions: applying political pressure on

18

Community and the State

the British government and developing explanatory polemics to mo­ bilize the population. Through the use of traditional socioeconomic ties and the circulation of a comprehensive interpretation, which linked Zionism to chaos or suffering, the Arab leadership endeavored to create a political movement.1 They hoped to appeal to British jus­ tice while strengthening their own positions by winning village sup­ port. Initially, therefore, they viewed the rural population as depen­ dent on urban leadership and subject to its direction. Few villagers could act in their own interests in the first years of the mandate, but they provided important material for nationalist arguments. Their plight became the subject of Palestinian nation­ alist appeals to the mandatory government. The British, unsympa­ thetic to ideological argument, were more sensitive to claims that villagers were being displaced. In the same year that they rejected the mandate and any political institutions based on it, the executive of the Palestine Arab Congress continued to support specific demands for economic relief. Their motives for raising this issue may be vari­ ously interpreted; but it is clear that Arab leaders were already con­ scious of village concerns at this time.2 The fact that the press and various political groups actively took up the cause of villagers by the late twenties and early thirties indi­ cates its growing impact on national life. A village congress met in Jaffa in 1929. Its program was a conglomeration of general political, social, and economic aims, but it elected an executive committee, which sent a statement to the district commissioner of the Southern District that was quite specific. Their demands included not only a renewed appeal for relief from debts but also security for the growing number of landless and unemployed villagers, instruction in agri­ cultural techniques, more schools and roads, and better sanitary conditions. They also argued, as was customary, that a policy based on the Balfour Declaration had hampered any real improvement, and closed with the following statement: The Arab villagers who demand this are 60% of the general in­ habitants of Palestine. Their welfare is the welfare of the ex­ treme majority and their prosperity is generally the prosperity of the country. They are the real producers and whenever their conditions are improved the conditions of the country will be improved.3 Assertive language does little to hide the plea for recognition con­ tained in this statement. In fact, the intense fear of disaster in the villages that characterized both government and Arab opinion in

Nationalism and Village Society

19

the early thirties should probably be seen as the reflection of a grow­ ing awareness that change could not be halted. At the same time, the participation of a broader spectrum of the population in political efforts slowly filtered into the villages, bring­ ing conflicting demands for loyalty. Dissatisfaction with the British retreat from the White Paper of 1930 and the accelerated pace of Jew­ ish immigration led to growing discontent among the Arab popula­ tion. More significantly, for the first time the social base for a politi­ cal movement seemed to be emerging. Organized youth groups, the participation of women, and the establishment of political parties were all characteristic of the years 1932-35. The greater effective­ ness of national mobilization, which the Royal (Peel) Commission noted in 1936, was built on this foundation. Cohesiveness was often more apparent than real, but the growing emotional force it repre­ sented reached increasing numbers of Palestinians.4 The Arab Bank and the National Fund, started in 1930 and 1931, respectively, were part of the new attempt to put pressure on land­ owners not to sell. The timing is especially significant, since by the mid-thirties many of the sellers were small owners rather than ab­ sentee or large landowners. However, the claim that no individual had the right to sell was not accompanied by any organized effort to help the impoverished villager. Economic arguments during this pe­ riod focused on convincing the British to act against Jewish purchase of land. They emphasized the external danger to the community and the protective responsibility of the mandatory authority. As a result, conflicting interests within the Arab population received neither at­ tention nor resolution. It is well known that the wartime and postwar negotiations on the status of Palestine were cited by Arab spokesmen as evidence of be­ trayal. Less frequently mentioned is the significance of the period 1929 -32 in reinforcing this suspicion of British intentions. Yet books written by Palestinian Arabs in support of their cause repeatedly re­ fer to the events of these years as further proof of disaster.5 The find­ ings of the major British investigations of this period (the reports of the Shaw Commission, John Hope Simpson, and Lewis French) are all cited as "objective" evidence, while the "black letter" of Ramsay MacDonald is taken to prove the utter impotence of the British gov­ ernment in the face of Zionist pressure. In making their case these writers intentionally use the evidence of British experts to make a political point. They demand that the British take their own advice and intervene as the responsible authorities. Discussion centers not on economic options to preserve the village but on the disintegra­ tion of a particular way of life. Facts and figures that are open to dis­

20

Community and the State

cussion (and often vehemently disputed by others) come to stand for an emotional reality. The transfer of soil means the loss of a clear identity between people and land; quantity is not significant, in this case, because the right to possess is as important as the fact of pos­ session. Thus, in the Arab view, when the British reinterpreted the Passfield White Paper they were in essence reissuing the Balfour Declaration. After the hope they had aroused, it was a deeply felt insult. Yusuf Haikal's analysis of the Arab case in Palestine is represen­ tative of the argument made in the late thirties and forties by many Arab Palestinians. He begins with a direct response to Zionism and an explanation of its intentions, which include (according to Haikal) economic domination of the Middle East. He then turns to the "eco­ nomic struggle" and its ramifications, with the purpose of counter­ ing Zionist claims of Palestinian prosperity and proving that the British are not living up to their promise of 1922.6 The author's case is supported largely by British reports, but the tone of cultural defensiveness and frustration is equally significant. Haikal is not merely making a case for lower agricultural taxes and aid to the cultivators; he is defending the honor of the fellah, who sells only out of dire necessity and is threatened with cultural ex­ tinction by the immigration of aliens. In casting much of his argu­ ment in economic terms, Haikal is responding to some British and Zionist attempts to reduce Arab-Jewish antagonism to manageable factors. In a statement that only appears to contradict earlier claims he sums up the problem: "The Palestinian case is not a case of mate­ rial gains and losses; it is a purely political case. So the Arabs resist Zionism because it is a threat to their existence, wanting to remove them from their land in order to make of it a state particular to the sons of Israel."7 In effect, Haikal is asserting the subordinacy of all other factors to the political; he is thereby striving to maintain the unity of life and the dignity of the Arabs. Arab Nationalist Ideas and the Reality of Palestine It is significant that Haikal's book appeared in 1937 because the years 1936—39 (and particularly 1938) were marked by the emergence of obvious strain in Palestinian villages. Although the revolt marked the high point of national unity and militant activism, it also re­ vealed deep frustration among villagers; the course it took illus­ trates the growing social divisions in rural areas. Whereas Haikal, Sifri, Bsisu, and others8argued that Arab political and economic interests were complementary, the reality confronting

Nationalism and Village Society

21

individual landowners was often very different. By the mid-thirties the Palestinian economy was far more diversified than fifteen years before. The temptation to sell land at high prices, whether to repay debts, to invest in equipment, or to enjoy immediate gratification, was bound to be great. During the earlier period landless villagers had few prospects, but by this time they could go to the cities if nec­ essary, and look for new types of work. British administrators did not consciously intend to break up vil­ lage life, but the policies they followed decisively altered the rural economy as well as society. That much of this development was the product of Zionist enter­ prise does not change this fact since the Jewish settlement was in­ tegral to the mandate and its administration. The conditions of the mandate encouraged a rapid increase in both Arab and Jewish popula­ tions, almost tripling the total number of Palestinians by 1946. Nu­ merical changes were accompanied by changes in regional and oc­ cupational distribution. The population of the coast grew as Jewish immigrants settled in the western and northern sections of the country. New industries and markets gradually attracted Arab mi­ grants. The major cities expanded, drawing the center of economic activity toward the sea.9 Although Palestine was a small country, geographical divisions tended to mark social and economic differences. Most obvious was the distinction between the coast and the hills of Galilee or Samaria. Throughout the mandate, the majority of the Arab rural population resided in the hills, where villages were characterized by a predomi­ nance of small holdings. Apart from the Galilee, Jewish settlement did not penetrate the hills as it did the Mediterranean coast and other flat areas suitable for large-scale cultivation. The most visible signs of technological transformation appeared in the areas closest to Jewish settlement. Villages in the plains, par­ ticularly those located near cities, were increasingly affected by the influx of capital, the growth of urban markets, and modern forms of cultivation. In these areas systematic Jewish purchase of land, ac­ companied by government operations to settle titles, rapidly altered the environment in which the Arab population lived. While Arab rural life was changing most significantly in the areas of Jewish settlement, the gap between wealthier landowners and small owners or landless villagers was becoming greater throughout the country. The French Report showed that land was changing hands among Arabs quite frequently.10 During the mandate many villagers for the first time became aware of land as an alienable commodity. Until then there had been no scarcity and legal claims to property

22

Community and the State

had remained vague. Now the development of a land market and capitalist enterprises produced new class as well as geographical dis­ tinctions. Inevitably intra-Arab relationships were affected and the growing political consciousness was molded by these internal as well as external constraints. Some nationalist writers argued that villagers never sold of their own will, while others formulated prohibitions: "a member of any community should not be allowed to dispose of his property in a manner which may prejudice the rights and position of the commu­ nity as a whole . . . as the exercise of the personal liberty of the indi­ vidual must be dependent upon the public interest and welfare."11 In effect, all were demanding that the villagers preserve continuity as a symbol of Arab Palestine. The symbolic significance of the fellah appeared again and again in Arab presentations of their case against Zionism. Testifying be­ fore the Royal Commission in 1937, both Jamal Bey al-Husayni and George Antonius expressed the view that the integrity of the village represented that of Arab Palestine. After arguing for measures to pro­ tect the villagers, Husayni continued: A person like myself, who before the War travelled from Haifa to Jenin or from Jenin to Tiberias or Beisan, passed through one Arab village after another, enjoying the generosity of the simple village folk, with their ever-smiling faces, who has seen them vie with one another even sometimes to the point of quarreling as to who will have the pleasure of having the visitor as his guest— such a person, if he now drives through or near these places will stand aghast and bewildered. The villages are no more. . . . Look­ ing at this new scene and remembering the old days, I said to myself, "Here is Zionism"; the fate of all Arab Palestine is the fate of these Arab villages and the fate of these Arab owners is the fate of these Arab villagers.12 In a similar vein, Antonius argued that the exodus from villages to towns brings much more than material disadvantages, that is, the loss of the moral values and moral characteristics which people acquire when they live on the land and live an agri­ cultural life, with all that implies, from father to son. . . . It is not only the loss to the individuals themselves, it is the loss of the traditional life of the country.13 Yet objective indicators suggest that by this time villagers were be­ coming aware of their relatively disadvantaged situation and were

Nationalism and Village Society

23

beginning to act to protect their own interests. Thus, when organized violence erupted in the countryside, it gathered force not only from the fear and hostility generated by Zionism but also from the divisive­ ness engendered by rapid change. As guerrilla bands composed largely of villagers gained power, they turned against urban Arabs, villagers who had worked with the government, and wealthy Arabs who had benefited from the growth of the economy. British officials and Jew­ ish settlers were the primary objects of hostility, but the Arab com­ munity itself was also rife with factional antagonism. Official descriptions of village life stressed the endemic nature of feuds and intrigue. Just as nationalist politics have been viewed in the light of Husayni-Nashashibi rivalry, so conflict in rural areas was usually explained as the product of family rivalries. While these in­ deed existed, traditional ties do not provide an adequate explanation of their persistence. Under the mandate villagers were subject to conflicting claims for group identification and loyalty. As rural areas came under direct government control as well as economic pressure, villagers began to see themselves as vulnerable to outsiders. Seeking communal pro­ tection, they were caught between the awareness that traditional leaders did not always serve their interests and the belief that only the nationalist movement could protect them against Zionism. The interests of tenants and landless workers were increasingly at vari­ ance with those of landowners, but circumstances in Palestine did not permit any clear articulation of such antagonism. Instead social conflict was channeled into factional divisions in the hope of main­ taining communal solidarity. The view that Zionism and to some extent the Palestine gov­ ernment sought the disintegration of Arab socioeconomic relation­ ships pervades the nationalist literature, which articulated fears of communal annihilation long before physical circumstances seem to have warranted prophecies of doom. The reasons must be sought in the growing realization that the Palestinian Arab community was changing internally and that these changes were endangering its con­ tinued existence in the face of external threat. As long as villagers continued to accept and depend upon notable leadership, they gained a measure of protection at the cost of eco­ nomic hardship as well as political isolation. Since such relation­ ships were sanctioned by tradition and strengthened by communal religious ties, they seemed to provide needed support in the face of threats to village unity. Nevertheless, it became increasingly appar­ ent that this elite had neither the unity nor the strength to shield villagers from the transformation of Palestine. Many landowners

24

Community and the State

sold land to Jews; others cooperated with the Palestine administra­ tion. As rural disorganization increased, then, some groups began to act in their own interests. Villagers with little or no land migrated in search of employment. Others decided to sell parts of their property for needed capital, while some, with the necessary resources, accu­ mulated larger holdings and engaged in more profitable agriculture. A small but growing number were able to enter the government bu­ reaucracy and thus improve their personal status.14 Although family structure and notable control over positions of power remained at the core of village life, new commitments began to attract individuals toward the periphery. This process of internal change, moreover, was not only the product of Zionist activity. The impact of Jewish settlement coincided with a broader transition within the Arab community, one that was shared with other colo­ nized or mandated regions subject to foreign control. It was precisely the coincidence of these two factors that pulled the Palestinian popu­ lation apart. Zionism shocked the Palestinian population, causing it to recoil within itself. The Palestine government, however, brought Western notions of administration, law, and impersonal government more subtly into the purview of villagers. The idea of state responsibility for popular welfare emerged only gradually, bringing with it a new concept of community. From this perspective, then, both the Arab writings and the British policy that sought to perpetuate the timelessness of village life after 1939 were expressing nostalgia for an already altered phenomenon. An interesting example of this is the juxtaposition of testimony by two witnesses before the Anglo-American Committee of Inquiry in 1946. The first was Fienry Cattan, a representative of the Arab Fiigher Committee. When asked whether there had been "an equal amount of self-conscious Arab nationalism" among Palestinian Arab vil­ lagers in 1920 as there was in 1946, Cattan responded that Arab feel­ ings had not changed and would have been the same in 1920. This may be contrasted with the sophistication shown by Abdullah Judeh Khalef, chairman of the Bira Local Council. Despite his claim to be like any other peasant and grateful that he grew up "removed from the sophistication and crooked ways of the cities," Khalef states that he has visited the United States several times to acquaint himself with some of its agricultural, commercial, and social life. Fie then goes on to argue that if not for the mandate and the Jewish National Fiome, the Palestinian peasant should have continued to live in peace, happiness and sim­ plicity. . . . In Palestine, however, because of the peculiar

Nationalism and Village Society

25

political situation and the deep-seated fear which lies in the heart of every Arab, and the peasants in particular, in conse­ quence of the policy of the Mandatory to establish the Jewish National Home, the case in Palestine is quite different. As a re­ sult, we peasants have no alternative but to take an active part in politics in defense of our country and of our existence. . . . The question is not a question of personal interests or a district inter­ est; we are Arabs in one country. I speak not of my district alone but of all the Arab villages.15 Whatever the source and however the change was evaluated—as favorable or unfavorable—the Palestinian Arab community was a far larger and more varied social structure in 1947 than it had been in 1920. Political tensions and the crises they involved often obscured the profound changes beginning to affect this society. Family and notable control were being undermined as a new bal­ ance between individual and class developed.16 The new direction of social movement was recognized by a British group in 1937: The example of Western capitalism is only just beginning to work a change; but it is interesting to note the germs of a middle class and of a proletariat as yet almost unorganised but whose numbers and influence will certainly increase in the years to come.17 A pamphlet published by the Arab Office reported a similar change: Power is passing to the educated middle-class. This educated elite is the spearhead of the national movement, but in recent years its national principles have been enriched by a new social consciousness which is expressing itself in the creation of volun­ tary social organisations and in the alliance between one section of the educated middle-class and the new movement of workers and peasants.18 According to this statement, the villagers were to be included in the new movement. That movement never developed and the extent of fundamental change may be questioned. There is no doubt, however, that the villagers of 1947 had shared in the common experience of the Arab community under the mandate, and as a result had become far more vulnerable to external factors than before. Conclusions The separation of Arabs from the Ottoman Empire as well as from each other destroyed a familiar balance between immediate personal

26

Community and the State

ties and the larger imperial unit. The map of the Middle East was redrawn by Great Britain and France. When these states took con­ trol, political power lost its symbolically integrative function and was transformed into a source of disunity. After 1920 existing re­ gional differences took shape as determinants of political as well as personal identity. A French mandate in Syria, an independent king­ dom in Iraq, a British mandate in Palestine—each established terri­ torial rather than communal government. Inevitably, the people af­ fected had to reformulate their own relationships to take this change into consideration. One of the most important consequences was that Arab leaders had to turn their attentions for the first time to the village population of each mandate. Their nationalist appeals could not be effective unless they evoked commitments that shaped the lives of villagers on a daily basis. The primary loyalties of most Palestinians in 1920 were to their families and localities. Patronage ties served to ensure the minimum requirements for survival. Power was distributed on a hierarchical scale, but no one outside the kinship group had absolute authority within the community. At each level, power was maintained by the skill to mediate potential conflicts and to satisfy the expectations of clients as well as official authority. At least until the thirties the rural population was under pressure to absorb concrete losses as well as new political demands into its family-based structure. The sup­ port system provided by family ties and religious affiliation was thus employed in different ways by the government as well as by Pales­ tinian Arab leaders to protect and control villagers. A child growing up in a Palestinian village in the twenties would have been imbued with many of the values that governed the older generation. Loyalty to parents and conformity to their demands were not abstract concepts. A boy knew that his freedom to work the land and gain a wife depended upon his adherence to prescribed behavior. A girl regulated her actions according to codes of modesty that en­ sured approval and acceptance by peers as well as elders. Typically their surroundings were physically limited, and disease combined with poverty to keep human power within clear limits. Yet the first postwar generation experienced this environment and its teachings differently from the past. Family and religion, land and custom remained important sources of security, but the factors creat­ ing insecurity had changed decisively during the war. The relation­ ship of villagers to notables was no longer a simple matter of eco­ nomic dependence and personal distance. The collapse of empire meant the development of interdependence; and the presence of for­ eigners only hastened this process.

Nationalism and Village Society

27

The terminology of Arabism and nationalism was adopted as an instrument for shaping these new relationships. In most rural areas it was supplementary to religion, but its use began the process of raising new questions about people's responsibility for acting in their own interests. The tension produced by the change of govern­ ment was personalized for some through land sales and through em­ ployment by Jews or the government. Agriculture was in the first stages of transformation from a way of life into a type of work, while increased opportunities for financial gain accompanied a potential loss of place. Most of these concerns remained latent and inarticulate in the twenties. The expression of opposition to the mandate was left to leaders who stressed political issues and relied on established posi­ tion to ensure support in the community. It took approximately ten years for changes in the countryside to force policy makers and na­ tionalist politicians to confront the social and economic implica­ tions of the mandate. The generation that came of age in this decade had no personal memories of the prewar period, but they carried its history within themselves as the values of home were tested in a new arena. All Palestinians, both Arab and Jewish, lived in a world decisively shaped by the presence of British officials in their midst. Unlike other Middle Eastern mandates, the Palestine mandate did not charge Great Britain with creating the conditions for independent state­ hood. The special provisions for a Jewish National Home required that the mandatory wield considerable legislative and administrative authority. Thus the general policies governing Palestinian develop­ ment were formulated in London, where domestic and international factors influenced the consideration of all recommendations or re­ quests from the area. From this perspective the Palestine govern­ ment remained an extension of the British state. For the population under its control, however, the Palestine gov­ ernment was a tangible presence, embodied in a growing number of institutions and legislative acts. The officials who served the govern­ ment were Arab and Jewish as well as British. They acted in the name of a territorial authority, and whatever their personal prefer­ ences, their official status depended upon the existence of a local public sector. The interpretation of policy and its daily implementa­ tion were their responsibility. To this extent, the Palestine govern­ ment came to be regarded by those whom it served, or failed to serve, as the practical equivalent of an emerging state system.

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3. The Formation of a Government

Introduction When British civil officials took over in Palestine their first priority was building an effective administration, as defined by British impe­ rial experience. Implicit in their actions was the belief in a minimal but specific type of government: one that maintained order, inter­ fered in economic life only to create satisfactory conditions for pro­ ductivity, and provided the public with services that Europeans had come to view as basic. From the beginning of the Palestine mandate, however, officials also had to contend with political conflicts that threatened to disrupt their efforts to achieve efficiency. The British equated government with territory and sought at first to minimize conflict by creating institutions for Palestine rather than for a particu­ lar sector of its population. They hoped therefore that the central government could serve in two capacities. It would carry out British policy and thereby serve British interest. At the same time it would mediate conflicting local interests, absorbing demands in time to prevent open division. The two requirements for an effective admin­ istration were viewed as complementary. The need for a Palestine government was not immediately appar­ ent to the Arab population under its control. The purpose of political organization in the minds of most Arabs was defense of the commu­ nity; its significance depended upon its ability to express the needs of the population to outsiders. The internal life of the community had appeared for centuries to be autonomous. Although inclusion in the Ottoman Empire had in fact shaped Palestinian Arab stratifica­ tion and internal relationships, this connection had been indirect, often hidden. When the Ottoman government had become more de­ manding, the result had been the increasing alienation of its Arab population. The defeat of the empire was thus coupled in the minds of Arab leaders with a desire for more adequate political representa­

32

Government and Society, 1920-1936

tion in the form of a national government. A mandatory adminis­ tration that seemed to undermine this communal leadership, and which could not give the community, as opposed to the territory, representation, did not answer the requirements long associated with government. While Palestinian Arabs were thus suspicious of British inten­ tions, many Palestinian Jews initially welcomed the mandate as a ve­ hicle for national development. The opportunity to create a Jewish National Home was implicitly linked with aspirations for eventual political independence. Although the goal of a Jewish state was rarely mentioned, the mandate was interpreted as a commitment to the Zionist movement. European Jews, who had come from powerful states, expected the British to act forcefully in fulfilling their obliga­ tions. Unlike most Arabs, who had little reason to expect benefits from any government, the Zionist movement had been based on the premise that control over a state would automatically benefit Jews everywhere. In addition, many were socialists with a commitment to public ownership of the means of production. Consequently, Zionist leaders not only expected activism on the part of British represen­ tatives, but also set about establishing their own governing structure.1 The mandate itself recognized the special status of the World Zionist Organization with regard to Palestine. It provided that: "An appropriate Jewish agency shall be recognized as a public body for the purpose of advising and cooperating with the Administration of Palestine in such economic, social and other matters as may affect the establishment of the Jewish national home. . . . The Zionist or­ ganization . . . shall be recognised as such agency."2 At the same time, the British were enjoined to create self-governing institutions for the entire Palestinian population. From the beginning, therefore, the British territorial definition of the mandate clashed with defini­ tions based on population and community. Even the physical nature of Palestine was subject to disagreement. On the one hand, the League empowered Great Britain to limit the Jewish National Home to areas west of the Jordan River. On the other hand, the provision for Jewish settlement prevented any clear identification of physical Palestine with one people. The lack of any specified future goal for either Pal­ estine or the Palestinians (Arab and Jewish) only added to the appar­ ent permanence of the British presence. Creation of a Civil Administration In July 1920 the first high commissioner for Palestine, Herbert Samuel, arrived in Jerusalem. As the senior representative of Great

The Formation of a Government

33

Britain, Samuel had considerable power over the structuring of a new government. Although the mandate was not formally issued un­ til two years later, its terms only confirmed the task that the British had already set themselves: to establish a Jewish National Home in Palestine without prejudice to the civil and religious rights of the non-Jewish inhabitants. As soon as Samuel and his aides began to create local institutions to fulfill these aims, they discovered the limitations on their actions. For example, among the guiding principles of policy toward the Arab community was a commitment to maintaining its cultural integrity. This commitment was interpreted by British officials as protection of the status quo in political and economic relationships. At the same time, the presence of the British in and of itself destroyed the integration of Palestinian Arabs into a larger cultural and political region. Similarly, the conscious intention of satisfying Jewish needs while fulfilling mandatory obligations to the Arabs encouraged a competition that prevented any success in creating meaningful Pal­ estinian institutions. The constraints on officials were thus rooted in the difficulties of respecting Ottoman precedent while fulfilling the conditions of the mandate. The civil administration of Palestine inherited both the legal pre­ cedents of nineteenth-century Ottoman reforms and the confused, often hostile response of a population subjected for over a century to various directives for change. The millet system of the Ottomans, which had granted religious communities considerable autonomy at the price of separation from one another, was in disarray by the mid-nineteenth century. In the 1840s and 1850s the European pow­ ers forced the Ottoman government to grant Christians equality in civil rights and participation in new political and educational in­ stitutions. Paradoxically, in some parts of the empire, missionary schools and the introduction of modern political concepts stimu­ lated Christian, as well as Muslim, Arabs to begin thinking in terms of Arab nationalism rather than religious sectarianism.3 The Young Turk Revolution of 1908 further divided Arabs from Turks. Some Palestinians participated in the general Arab movement that developed after 1908, and included both Christians and Mus­ lims. By 1920 religious separatism (supported by law and enforced by tradition) thus coexisted with Christian-Muslim political coopera­ tion against the terms of the mandate. To this unresolved definition of community, the mandate contributed two new aspects: the cre­ ation of a Palestinian citizenship and the introduction of a European Jewish community.4 Prior to British occupation Palestine had been divided into three

34

Government and Society, 1920-1936

sanjaks, each administered by a representative of the Ottoman gov­ ernment in cooperation with a representative legislative council [majlis idarah). The hierarchy of provincial councils, which in­ cluded non-Muslim as well as Muslim members, had originated under reform legislation in the nineteenth century. From the begin­ ning they represented a base for local notable control, although the extent of their actual power was limited by the countervailing force of Ottoman administrative officials. The Young Turk Revolution intensified Arab demands for decen­ tralization throughout the empire, and a new law on provincial ad­ ministration (Ottoman Vilayet Law) was issued in 1913 as a partial response to this pressure. This law, "based on the principle of giving local authorities wide powers while defining their duties," sought to provide for a balance of responsibility between the governor and the general council of each province. To this end the corporate legal nature of local administrative bodies was recognized. Elections to the councils were indirect, and the proportion of Muslims to nonMuslims remained fixed. This law, in conjunction with a municipal law, defined local government in Palestine until new legislation took effect under the mandate.5 Technically Ottoman councils had had a broad range of duties, but a limited franchise and the power of district governors to nominate members prevented any popular initiative from developing. Never­ theless, these institutions represented important gains for the upper-class Arab families who had strengthened their local positions through participation in Ottoman legislative bodies (including the parliament restored in 1908) and in such offices as the mayoralty of towns. They had hoped that the postwar settlement would expand this base, rather than reduce it, and it was partly for this reason that Arab nationalist leaders continued to cite policies of the Ottoman government as more representative than those of the British.6 Notable prerogatives were thus one important factor with which British officials had to contend. The heritage of religious involvement in state institutions raised additional questions. Significant sections of the educational and judicial systems had retained a strictly sec­ tarian character under Ottoman rule. The political significance of religious communities had been recognized by inclusion of their leadership in the councils. At the same time, the thrust of the nineteenth-century reforms was directed toward increasing secu­ larism and erosion of the millet system. In Palestine, MuslimChristian cooperation was evident from the first years of the nation­ alist movement. Consequently, in developing political institutions, British policy makers had to decide whether to deal with the Arab

The Formation of a Government

35

community as a national group or whether to continue allocating positions according to religion. Ironically, the power that had pres­ sured the Ottoman government to create secular institutions now acted to preserve religious prerogatives.7 Ottoman procedure in fact formed the legal point of departure for the new British administration. Faced with the obligation of estab­ lishing self-governing institutions, the Palestine government had to take a position on the nature of participation in official politics. This position was determined by the principle of noninterference with ex­ isting communal relationships. Despite this theoretical orientation, the substitution of a Christian for a Muslim state power in Palestine inevitably threatened the coalition of religious and political lead­ ership that had been particularly strong in Syria and Palestine. The Jewish community was later able to express its autonomy through the Vaad Leumi (National Council), organized under the Religious Communities Ordinance of 1926. The Muslim population, however, had never been one of several millets (autonomous religious com­ munities) and thus resented its degradation to the same level as mi­ nority groups; at the same time, they were unprepared for the need to organize along similar lines. The first years of the mandate were devoted to testing alternative institutional vehicles for political and economic organization. In or­ der to ensure continuity, such institutions had to serve not only the existing but also the potential Palestinian population. As a result, Arab-Jewish differences of language and culture were immediately reinforced by a political situation in which both groups were treated as separate but equal claimants to British attention. The proposal for a legislative council was part of the first British effort to provide Pal­ estine with a constitutional order. The plans for this council, which would have linked the two communities with the mandatory gov­ ernment, were formulated in 1922. They met with qualified approval from Jewish leaders, who were not in a position to dissent, and un­ qualified opposition from Arab spokesmen, who organized a boycott of the elections in 1923.8 Arab refusal to accept the council was based on strategic as well as emotional considerations. Powerful Arab leaders were unwilling to acquiesce openly in the mandate and to participate in any body that would not have had the power to control key areas of dispute such as Jewish immigration. It has also been argued that some British offi­ cials encouraged the belief that noncooperation might limit or erase support for Zionist plans. These immediate reasons for a boycott were reinforced by historical factors that prevented Arab leaders from seizing an opportunity they were later to seek. The legislative

36

Government and Society, 1920-1936

council was proposed in the early stages of Arab political organiza­ tion, when few were actively involved and their experience had not yet taught them the inherent capacity of organizations to extend power even where it is initially limited. Under these circumstances participation in the council appeared too risky to a group bent on protecting its already tenuous position. Failure to establish a legislative council marked the temporary end of British efforts to create an elected forum for joint Arab-Jewish par­ ticipation in the Palestine government. The offer to create an Arab Advisory Agency comparable to the Jewish Agency was also refused, and the administration was left with the problem of seeking signifi­ cant Arab cooperation with its work. The difficulty of fulfilling the obligations of the mandate without disruption and of satisfying political ends by the use of administra­ tive means created a constant source of tension for British officials. Samuel had been an early supporter of Zionist plans for a Jewish Na­ tional Home and, like other liberal thinkers, he hoped that the Jew­ ish settlement could proceed under British auspices without injury to the Palestinian Arab population. His early optimism soon col­ lapsed in the face of obvious conflicts of interest. The government still needed continuous links to the Arab population, but policy makers in London refused to accept any measures that could be viewed as capitulation to nationalist agitation. As a result, the high commissioner and his advisors initiated efforts to absorb commu­ nity leaders into the mandatory administration.9 The Palestine government dealt with the Arab population under its control at two levels. The central offices of all government depart­ ments were located in Jerusalem, seat of the high commissioner. These departments employed personnel assigned to work in the vari­ ous regions but accountable to the central offices. In the districts themselves, district commissioners coordinated local administra­ tion. The commissioners located their offices in regional centers, as­ signing district officers to subdivisions of their territory. These administrative divisions tended to breed varying points of view and interests. The argument for decentralization was first made, therefore, by British district governors (the title was later changed to district commissioner). In 1920 the district governor for Samaria expressed this position in a letter to the civil secretary. He began by explaining that departmental control over all services— legal, educational, financial—inhibited the development of local self-government. According to the writer, district governors were powerless, and progress in rural areas depended on improvements in their position. He bolstered his argument with the opinion that vil­

The Form a tion of a Go vernmen t

37

lagers, "who pay so much toward the revenue of the country, are very much neglected at present."10 Between 1920 and 1924 district governors worked to achieve effec­ tive control in their districts. They were aware that success depended upon the development of direct ties with the population. Despite na­ tionalist opposition to the mandate, it became apparent that many Palestinian Arabs were anxious to receive appointment to official positions. The high commissioner noted that he was "continually receiving representations on the question of the small number of Muslims employed in positions of responsibility."11 Christians had filled a disproportionate number of posts under the military admin­ istration; Samuel hoped to correct this by employing greater num­ bers of Muslims from prominent families. In this way British offi­ cials hoped to win cooperation from the stratum they considered most influential.12 In a proposal for reorganization of the northern district Colonel R. Symes suggested that five Palestinian officials be appointed to the positions of assistant district governors. These posts formerly had been filled by British personnel. Symes admitted that the change would involve some loss of efficiency, but suggested that it would meet the increasing Palestinian demand for responsible positions without any real diminution of British control. He went on to ex­ plain that the assistants would have in some respects a nominal role. The appointee in the northern district "should be a Moslem of good family and standing in the country," since then he could help re­ establish personal contact between the administration and the pub­ lic.13 In forwarding this proposal to the Colonial Office, the high commissioner stressed his interest in associating Palestinians with the administration of their country whenever possible. Samuel made it clear that he considered such action essential for political reasons.14 Officials in the Colonial Office were far more reluctant than Samuel to replace British officers with local staff. Approval to ap­ point Palestinian assistant governors was therefore withheld by the colonial secretary. Nevertheless, the high commissioner continued to press the point. As it became apparent that Arab leaders would not participate in the legislative council, the Arab agency, or the advisory council, administrators became increasingly anxious to create some stable relationship with respected members of the community.15 The problem of gaining Palestinian Arab participation in the gov­ ernment was finally resolved in three different ways. The first mea­ sure, actually taken in 1921, was to divest British officers of re­ sponsibility for Muslim religious affairs. Previously, the Ottoman government had supervised Muslim courts and religious endow­

38

Government and Society, 1920-1936

ments. The establishment of a secular government entailed making adequate provision for Muslim interests and appointments. The civil authorities responded to this need by creating the Supreme Muslim Council appointing Haj Amin al-Husayni as its president. Samuel hoped thereby to gain control over Haj Amin. Although the Council achieved considerable autonomy and the president used it effectively to serve both nationalist and personal interersts, the Su­ preme Muslim Council remained the only powerful Arab organi­ zation which was officially recognized. The result was the perpetua­ tion of the existing predominance of sectarian division in public organizations.16 In addition, the Palestine government gradually absorbed represen­ tatives of the Arab upper and middle classes into administrative positions. The actions taken with regard to the Supreme Muslim Council and Arab officials reflected government hopes of winning the approval or at least acquiescence of Arab spokesmen in British policy. It was hoped that the cooperation of representatives from the most vocal classes of the population could be gained either through direct employment or through offering them a recognized base of power in their own community. Finally, some efforts were made to encourage greater public partici­ pation in government through limited devolution of responsibilities to representative bodies. The boycott of the legislative council elec­ tions led the high commissioner to believe that electoral institu­ tions should first be established at the local level. The Local Government Commission In December 1923 Herbert Samuel appointed an official committee charged with formulating a policy on local government. The high commissioner met with the commission to outline his views of its purpose. After reviewing the current situation, in which almost no elective institutions functioned, he went on to explain why this sit­ uation could not continue. In the first place, the mandate required progress in the development of local self-government. Second, he felt that the population was divorced from the official conduct of affairs; claims that the people had less share in government after their "lib­ eration" than before were indeed accurate. The commission's pur­ pose was therefore to develop an appropriate framework for local government, "bearing in mind that the people are not sufficiently ad­ vanced" to permit as much autonomy as was common in the West.17 There was, moreover, a related subject on which Arab politicians were particularly insistent. Their power over education had been di­

The Formation of a Government

39

minished, and it was incumbent upon the government to find a for­ mula for increasing local control over the schools. Samuel added that religious differences were liable to increase the complexity of any proposed system of local government. He concluded by insisting that the inquiry remain official and not include representatives of the population.18 The demands on the commission were enormous: to formulate a system that would satisfy political demands without consulting the sources of those demands; to provide an institutional framework for cooperation between government and the population without ceding meaningful controls; and thus, to ensure technically adequate ser­ vices without excessive central dictation. They had also to deal sepa­ rately with the questions of education and local government, each of which posed different problems of intercommunal accommodation. In the absence of consultation with political leaders, the commis­ sion took as its starting point the Ottoman Vilayet Law of 1913. In its deliberations a consensus was reached on three basic principles. All new institutions were to be continuous with prewar practice. Lo­ cal government bodies were to exercise genuine authority. A separate set of local committees would administer education.19 The work of the Local Government Commission resulted in two reports as well as several memoranda. Although the commission drew up a general scheme for local councils, its final report dealt pri­ marily with the organization of educational services. Public works, health services, and education were all areas considered open to lo­ cal control. Of these, education aroused the most public concern.20 The commission addressed the substantive problems of establish­ ing a network of local councils and educational authorities. Mem­ bers deliberated about the potential composition of such councils, the financial resources available to them, and the power they would have. These were sensitive issues, likely to arouse bureaucratic ri­ valry and concern about losing control. Tension was most evident in the field of education. The Arab community was anxious to gain con­ trol over public schools and teachers; decentralization was likely to be popular, but the British director of education was equally likely to oppose any such action. Although the high commissioner had reminded the commission of the need for self-governing institutions, members never consid­ ered recommending the establishment of fully elective bodies. Even George Antonius, assistant director of education, who was probably most anxious to ensure a measure of public participation, proposed mixed councils in which nonofficial members would be nominated. In a "Note on the Organization of the Local Government Councils

40

Government and Society, 1920-1936

for Services Other than Education," Antonius proposed a hierarchy of councils at the village, district, and central administrative levels. In regard to the last two, he raised important questions of principle. Was it desirable that the composition of the councils strictly reflect the relative strength of different groups in the population? And, if so, of what elements should Palestine "be held to be composed?" Was the population made up of Arabs and Jews; Muslims, Christians, and Jews; or Palestinians and Europeans?21 The final reports of the commission did not delve into the politi­ cal implications of these questions. The recommendations were structural and specific. They suggested the creation of a system of three parallel levels: village, district, and central. At each level, an educational authority, consisting of official as well as unofficial members, would supervise the school system while a general coun­ cil would participate in local administration. Schools would be di­ vided into two linguistic groups, Arabic and Hebrew, each with its own hierarchy of control. The Arab Educational Council would in­ clude a prescribed number of Muslims and Christians. The commission hoped this scheme would resolve the fundamen­ tal problem of how to regulate publicly funded schools in a uniform manner without sacrificing communal autonomy. Ottoman prece­ dent was invoked to support the recommendation that councils be given the right to impose a tax for education and to use the funds for school maintenance as well as salaries. The writers of the report went further in recommending that local education authorities be given direct responsibility for appointing and dismissing teachers; to make this suggestion more palatable to the Department of Educa­ tion, they specified that its director would monitor these decisions. In its conclusion, the members of the commission made a strong argument for what they considered the retention, rather than the creation, of "a highly-organized system of local government, which involved a considerable measure of autonomy." They found that there was a strong and genuine public desire for the establishment of a system that would give the population an effective share in the management of public services. Moreover, such a system was sup­ ported both by the sanction of precedent and by the spirit as well as the letter of the mandate. While admitting that application of the proposed scheme would entail an increase in cost and possibly a de­ crease in efficiency, the authors felt that the advantages would out­ weigh the disadvantages. In the last analysis, however, the commis­ sioners appealed to the limited nature of their scheme as providing justification for its adoption: "With regard to the degree of auton­ omy conferred, we have endeavored to provide as wide a field for lo­

The Formation of a Government

41

cal initiative and for the development of the public sense as seemed safe and consistent with the retention of ultimate control in the hands of the central government/'22 In several respects, the institutional structure outlined in the commission's two reports fell short of theoretical promises made in Ottoman legislation. Despite a stated preference for semielective bodies, the final recommendations contained provisions solely for nominated nonofficial membership in the various councils. More­ over, while the prewar primary-school law had adopted the goal of gratuitous and compulsory elementary education,23 this idea was not even discussed by the Palestinian officials. Thus, the final product of the commission's work proved to be little more than a modified ver­ sion of Ottoman models; the problem of bridging communal barri­ ers was resolved by the creation of a uniform set of regulations to cover the actual heterogeneity of social and political conditions. The responses to this and earlier reports by the commission are clear evidence of the resistance that any plan for genuine dispersion of power was likely to encounter. George Antonius, who was respon­ sible for formulating important elements in the majority's proposals, had tried to walk a thin line between Arab desires for greater au­ tonomy and British bias toward official control.24 Sidney Moody, an­ other member of the commission, expressed his dissent in a minor­ ity report. Moody disagreed fundamentally with the majority's interpretation of Palestine's history and needs. He argued that all the adminis­ trative councils established by the Turks had been artificial; only municipalities and village councils represented organic, native in­ stitutions that should be encouraged. He noted that apart from mu­ nicipalities and local councils, Palestinians were already in charge of local government under the supervision of a few British district officers. Moody considered this the most democratic form attainable under existing circumstances. He pointed out that district officers considered themselves representatives of local opinion and identi­ fied with the views of the population. Since everyone had access to them and every point of view was represented by them, there was no need for change. The Palestinian population, in this view, showed little corporate unity outside villages and towns; administrative officials therefore were best equipped to provide intraregional coordination. The mi­ nority report also raised doubts about the political value of the pro­ posals. In reference to the claim that education and other services had to be decentralized because of a "universal clamour for local self-government," Moody held that no such "clamour" existed ex­

42

Government and Society, 1920-1936

cept with regard to municipal government, which had functioned be­ fore the war. He acknowledged that there was a demand for greater control over education, but suggested that it could be met without an elaborate system of local government. He added that the public would be reluctant to pay taxes for education and that those who cared about schools would be more concerned with efficiency than with local control.25 Other criticisms were generally in agreement with the minority re­ port. Important issues that the commission had skirted were brought into focus by outside commentators. The governor of the northern district pointed out that uniform regulations were unlikely to obliter­ ate real distinctions within the Palestinian population. He doubted that district education committees could function effectively in the absence of common cultural values. The result would be an organi­ zation "entirely suitable to neither of the two peoples [Arabs and Jews] and which in the case of Arabs" would be hampered by "their sectarian differences and parochialisms."26 Jerome Farrell, assistant director of education, was a good deal more forthright in claiming that the people of the mandated territory by definition were inca­ pable of self-education. He too felt that uniformity of organization would effectively widen the cultural gap between Arabs and Jews.27 Only one respondent, the governor of the southern district, criti­ cized the scheme for offering neither effective self-government nor efficient local government. Nevertheless, he too disagreed with the proposal to reestablish cumbersome district councils, recommend­ ing instead a positive response to popular demands for elected muni­ cipal councils, a legislative assembly, and an increase in the number of Palestinians in the higher branches of government service.28 The Local Government Commission issued its final report in 1925, shortly before Herbert Samuel left Palestine. Although Samuel could not implement any of its recommendations, he left a memo­ randum for his successor that stated his views. The high commis­ sioner rephrased his reasons for appointing the commission,- he stressed the financial situation, difficulties in balancing the budget, and the insistence of the Colonial Office on reducing expenditures for education. "Lastly," he said, "there was the political aspect to be borne in mind."29He went on to emphasize the importance of avoid­ ing complicated election procedures, as well as the difficulties created by overlapping religious and secular organizations for education. Although Samuel favored some satisfaction of the desire for selfgovernment, his practical suggestions were limited in scope. These hesitations, the arrival of a new high commissioner, and strong criti­ cism from outside officials all prevented immediate action on the re­

The Formation of a Government

43

port. Instead of implementing the proposed scheme, the new high commissioner chose to reestablish municipal councils and to delay the extension of representative institutions.30 The work of the Local Government Commission and reactions to it illustrate the difficulties of creating any form of self-government for the Palestinian population as a whole. Although unrecognized at the time, the apparently bureaucratic problems of control were symptomatic of the ambiguities inherent in the mandate. The commission's work foundered on unanswered questions un­ derlying Arab-British relations. If Arab children had to be educated and only the British-run government could collect the necessary public funds, who would coordinate funds with need and thereby control substance? Education became a visible battleground for con­ trol over a newly public domain. The Jewish community, smaller and relatively coherent, avoided this problem because it operated on two levels. Education was financed and controlled largely by Zionist in­ stitutions. Community leaders then negotiated with the govern­ ment as to public funds and standards. The Palestinian Arab popula­ tion had neither the means nor the internal organization to attain such independence. Although private (often religious) groups were exceedingly active, only public funds could pay for widespread edu­ cation as well as other elementary services. Up to this point British and Arab views were in accord. Conflict emerged because most British representatives of the gov­ ernment saw their function as protective and thus paternalistic. They needed to develop a system for collecting the necessary taxes; some form of self-government would satisfy this need as well as the terms of the mandate. At the same time, autonomous Arab control over education would undermine their own definition of an effec­ tive administration. As a result, the end of Samuel's term coincided with the cessation of efforts to frame a comprehensive plan for selfgovernment. Thereafter, the Palestine government would play con­ tradictory roles vis-a-vis the Arab population. At times the govern­ ment acted as an extension of the community, offering necessary services. At other times it withdrew, asserting the priority of British interests and commitments. When and where it would change posi­ tions often appeared arbitrary to those dependent on its actions. Municipal Government After 1925 the administration was forced to adopt a fragmentary ap­ proach to the development of self-governing institutions. There was no timetable for the establishment of elective bodies at either the lo­

44

Government and Society, 1920-1936

cal or national level. Instead, political pressures often dictated when and how initiatives would be taken. At the higher levels of policy, the desire to maintain British control and to prevent any coordinated hostile response guided decision making, but at the immediate local level this goal often operated as a negative, rather than constructive, imperative.31 The revival of elected municipal councils provides a clear example of the tensions created by attempts to utilize Ottoman forms in en­ tirely new circumstances and to respect religious divisions without regard for their context. The regulation of municipal government also became a focal point for dealing with the transition from an im­ perial to a national orientation. Elected municipal bodies had functioned in Palestine until the British occupation, when they were held in abeyance and new mem­ bers were nominated. By February of 1921 the new high commis­ sioner felt that public opinion demanded the restoration of elections in the near future, but he was uncertain as to how representation of all religious groups could be assured. Discussions within the Ad­ visory Council on a municipal franchise bill revealed the difficulty of satisfying both Arab and Jewish understandings of local govern­ ment. It quickly became apparent, for example, that when Jewish ad­ visors expressed their preference for a new, European-style system, Arab spokesmen defended Ottoman precedent as the only one appro­ priate to Palestinian conditions.32 In any case, these early deliberations proved futile, since despite the high commissioner's pleas, the Colonial Office remained unwill­ ing to sanction a return to the elective system. As late as March 1925 the colonial secretary was reluctant to approve elections because he feared a revival of political agitation. In an almost personal expres­ sion of irritation, the secretary reaffirmed an earlier policy that "in view of the Arab attitude . . . formal attempts to secure closer asso­ ciation of the Arab Community with the administration of Palestine were not to be renewed."33 A year later, the new high commissioner, Lord Plumer, submitted a revised Municipal Franchise Ordinance, since he believed that the ordinance drawn up in 1923 would have "led too early to the enfran­ chisement of a number of persons who possess little sense of civic responsibility."34 In the enacted ordinance age, sex, and property re­ quirements severely limited the list of eligible voters. Registration along religious lines further impeded the development of any joint public commitment on the part of those involved. Although the first elections were held under this ordinance, it was viewed as only a

The Formation of a Government

45

temporary regulation to be superseded by comprehensive legislation. Plumer explained his priorities in a letter to the colonial secretary. The high commissioner saw progress toward self-government as a se­ ries of "stepping stones" of which the first was the attainment of public security, followed by financial stability, sustained economic progress, and education in administration.35 Official wariness was countered by public resentment. One of the key issues repeatedly raised by Arab leaders was the mandate's prom­ ise of self-government. In view of Muslim-Christian cooperation in nationalist circles, it is clear that for political activists religious complexity was not a convincing excuse for delay, particularly with regard to city government, which had functioned in the prewar period. The high commissioner's statement that Palestine was unique be­ cause of its international position and religious significance seemed irrelevant to the Arab Executive. Even more disturbing was the corol­ lary that Palestine could not have a constitution providing that "Pal­ estine would be governed by Palestinians purely for Palestinians."36 In fact, the divisions apparent in the first elections to municipal councils were not between Muslims and Christians. Instead two na­ tionalist factions, Husayni and Nashashibi, competed for positions as councillors and for town mayoralties. By 1925 the nationalist movement was internally divided; the pressure that had contributed to the creation of the Local Government Commission was largely dissipated through internal feuding. This helps explain Samuel's shift in emphasis between early 1924 and the end of 1925. Plumer's period in office was characterized by relative calm, and progress to­ ward self-government slowed down accordingly. When the immediate incentive for organization disappeared, the anger of Arab leaders lost some of its focus. Tactics of noncoopera­ tion and boycott had not prevented the establishment of a foreigncontrolled Palestine government. As this became clear, Arab leaders had to find strategies for protecting their ambiguous positions as both representatives of their community to the government and leaders of opposition against its policies. Separate factions, initially based on competing family groupings, chose different strategies for negotiating the new terrain. While the new Mufti, Haj Amin alHusayni, concentrated on strengthening the Supreme Muslim Coun­ cil, the mayor of Jerusalem, Regheb Bey Nashashibi, worked toward cementing his ties in various towns. Others began to accept govern­ ment positions, to ensure continued recognition of their social and economic status. The political disagreements within this elite were

46

Government and Society, 1920-1936

symptomatic of the strain entailed in adjusting to the new govern­ ment. By now, most of the active nationalists had made the transi­ tion from a broader nationalist movement to a narrower Palestinian resistance by trying to act within the new mandatory institutions; they had adjusted their behavior to the organizational framework created by British officials.

4. The Formation of a Public Service Links to the Villages

Recruitment Five years after military rule was replaced by a civil administration, the government of Palestine had been established and began to ex­ pand. Positions of obvious power were filled by British staff. Repre­ sentatives of the mandatory authority, in London and Jerusalem, made policy. Yet Arabs and Jews also served in its bureaucracy, imple­ menting decisions over which they rarely had any direct control. Jews who worked for the government had little reason to feel par­ ticularly powerful, since the Yishuv had its own political organiza­ tion. It was important to maintain a Jewish presence in the Palestine government at all levels, but these officials did not bear the burden of representing their community to the British; this was done by the Zionist organizations. Arabs who served in an official capacity suffered far more from the strains inherent in their positions, since there was no organized rep­ resentation for the Arab community as a whole. The Arab Executive and later the Arab Higher Committee spoke for the population at times, but neither attained permanent recognition, popular or offi­ cial. Periodically a high commission would seek permission from the Colonial Office to establish a legislative council. Occasionally efforts would be made to extend electoral bodies. None of these plans were ever implemented. Samuel's policy of drawing individual Arabs into the government took on added significance in light of this fail­ ure to achieve elected corporate representation.1 To fill the highest administrative posts available to Palestinians, the British sought Arabs who already had standing in their own com­ munity. They particularly wanted to recruit those whose hostility to the mandate might be mitigated by government employment or whose personal affiliations would bolster their official authority. Yet those who accepted such appointments did not necessarily want to

48

Government and Society, 1920-1936

strengthen the mandatory government; they were equally likely to see such positions as a base for exercising influence, however indi­ rect, on policy. Inevitably high Arab officials worked in an atmo­ sphere of ambiguity They themselves could not tell when their authority derived from personal connections and when from the positions they held. At times they could feel that they had influence; at other times they were forcefully reminded of the limits to their power. As the mandate wore on, public employment expanded. The num­ ber of Arabs who worked for the government increased. The admin­ istration began to extend its interest to new occupations and to hire workers from a broader socioeconomic range: the Department of Public Works employed villagers in construction; the Department of Education employed teachers; the Department of Health began to operate clinics and hospitals. Gradually the government reached into the villages, tying mukhtars (village headmen) more closely to the local administration. At each level, the relationship of Palestinian Arabs to their employer entailed a measure of frustration, but the de­ gree and sources varied. For those who brought influence to their offices, doubts and feelings of anger were likely to be conscious; for many others, temporary benefits encouraged suppression of doubt. Yet ambivalence inevitably surfaced when nationalist interests clashed overtly with policy. The Palestine government involuntarily created a body of public officials. Whether they would one day belong to an independent state and if so what kind was never fully decided by the British. For those involved the question became increasingly urgent as the years passsed. As they served in government they saw more closely and felt more strongly the reality of state power. They became identified with a Palestinian entity that was not theirs, but that they could hope one day would be. As the mandate progressed, Arab officials were affected by their positions as mediators, or middlemen. Al­ though many wholeheartedly supported nationalist goals, they chose to act within rather than without the administration. Unwittingly their own perspectives on politics were affected as they in turn influ­ enced the community in which they worked. Three groups of officials played particularly important roles in Arab villages. District officers were among the highest-ranking Pal­ estinian administrators; in the countryside they acted as the link be­ tween villagers and the British district commissioners. The district officers in turn worked with mukhtars, a group whose ties to the ad­ ministration became more overt during the mandate. Finally, village public school teachers played a significant part in implementing

The Formation of a Public Service

49

educational policy and giving it content of their own. The history of these groups and their experience in government service provides concrete evidence of the personal as well as political meaning of an expanding public sector. District Officers In 1923 Samuel proposed to reconcile Muslims to the mandate by ap­ pointing influential individuals to official positions. Colonial Office discussions of his suggestions showed a reluctance to accept the pro­ posals and apprehension about the problems being created: As to the probable future of these officers, it is more diffi­ cult to speak with positiveness. Either they would simply make themselves the mouth-piece of their class in which case they would retain their popularity and be useless to the Govern­ ment . . . or they would conscientiously carry out the policy of the Government in which case they would do their work rather less efficiently than British officers costing the same amount, would command less confidence in the lower classes of their fel­ low countrymen and would be entirely discredited or cordially loathed by the self-assertive, politically-minded upper classes whom the High Commissioner wishes, apparently at all costs, to propitiate.2 Among those who proved vulnerable to this conflict between formal responsibilities and national or class loyalties were the Arab district officers. In rural areas district officers acted as coordinators of local proj­ ects, legal authorities, and mediators. For most villages they were the most visible outside representatives of government policy in matters of taxation, security, and relief or aid. Although departmen­ tal officials also operated on the local level, district officers were gen­ erally entrusted with control over subdistricts and their reports were particularly significant in relaying local sentiment to district head­ quarters. This circumstance naturally gave such officials some lever­ age in arguing for particular actions in the villages, and led mukhtars or notables to turn to them for help. In addition to their role as repre­ sentatives of legal formality, district officers also functioned on a per­ sonal basis to resolve village disputes and maintain minimal loyalty in the subdistricts.3 Normal patterns of authority in the countryside depended strongly on paternal authoritarianism and family patronage relationships to

50

Government and Society, 1920-1936

keep order. The body of local advisors first hired by the military au­ thorities had not conformed to this tradition. This group, consisting primarily of educated Christians with little status, furnished the first Palestinian district officers. When Samuel inaugurated the pol­ icy of substituting local for British personnel, his sensitivity to their political role made him anxious to employ representatives of the tra­ ditional Muslim elite, who could wield personal influence. Never­ theless, the process of absorbing Muslims into the administration and creating a viable structure of authority evolved slowly during the 1920s. In 1923 there were only six Palestinians (of all religions) acting as district officers. By 1925 the number had increased to twenty-six, acting under the close supervision of nineteen British officers.4 Although movement between different branches of the bureau­ cracy was common, district officers were among the few senior Arab officials in Palestine and their number remained relatively small. Their recruitment was based on family or political connections as well as on educational qualifications. Despite Samuel's efforts, Christians continued to be disproportionately represented even in this branch.5 The problem of maintaining a reasonable balance between Chris­ tians and Muslims remained a source of tension. In the years from 1929 to 1932, Muslim organizations and newspapers campaigned against the discrimination that they blamed for their relative lack of representation in the entire civil service. One cause for this imbalance was the priority given by non-Arabic-speaking British officials to Arabs who spoke English. Another was the general im­ balance in educational opportunities available to Arabs, which tended to favor Christians in many departments.6 The riots of 1929 further complicated the task of replacing British personnel with Palestinians in the districts and revived awareness of the highly political nature of the administration. John Chancellor's response to a suggestion from the Colonial Office that experts be sent to examine the Palestinian administrative structure empha­ sized the particularity of Palestine. He spoke of Palestine as a coun­ try where every administrative question had to be examined from its "political, religious, and racial aspects before a decision could be taken."7 In 1931 the O'Donnell Commission's report on various as­ pects of government made evident the difficulties of creating official contact with the Arab population.8The limitations on the power of district officers were brought out in the final evaluation. The report suggested that district officers under the mandate had more restricted powers than comparable Ottoman officials. Their principal function

The Formation of a Public Service

51

remained collection of the tithe. The report also commented un­ favorably on the detrimental effects of noncooperation between de­ partmental and district officials. Insensitivity to popular perceptions contributed to this clash: It will take generations to modify the popular belief that the administrative officer is the sole fountain of authority under whom departmental officers act in their dealings with the people. Departmental zeal for internal efficiency, discipline and indepen­ dence has undoubtedly tended to ignore the administrative officer whose responsibility is sometimes only recognized when public exasperation reaches the limit of open defiance of authority.9 By the thirties the pattern of absorbing Arabs into the administra­ tion had become clearer. Personnel training as well as assignment became the subject of renewed concern. In 1933 the high commis­ sioner pointed out the need to retire some early appointees and re­ place them with "young, well-educated, trained and experienced Pal­ estinian officers of good family."10He proposed a system of appointing cadet district officers as trainees, and several months later four were appointed. The three Arabs were all from prominent Muslim fami­ lies; two were already serving in government positions and one was the son of a mayor.11 Events in the same year also deepened the reliance of the admin­ istration on Palestinian district officers. Renewed disturbances in­ creased the need for reliable information on popular feeling, which these officers were depended upon to provide.12 Arab district officers were in a particularly vulnerable position, however, because of the pressures exerted upon them. In most cases they were highly edu­ cated, and the Muslims often came from the upper class. In an in­ dependent state they would have been the government, but under the mandate they remained subject to the control and direction of foreigners.13 The original corps of Muslim officers were men educated in Otto­ man times with a fully independent source of social status. Many undertook their service in a fashion that might have characterized their positions in the empire. They supervised the collection of taxes, helped to resolve disputes that threatened order, and inter­ fered little in other internal village affairs. There is no evidence that in this early period loyalty to the nationalist movement actively hampered the exercise of their duties. Political activity was a rela­

52

Government and Society, 1920-1936

tively limited phenomenon at this time; and Arab officials, while undoubtedly sympathetic to nationalist goals, did not extend their sense of identity to the population, which they continued to govern as a removed, cosmopolitan class.14 Over the course of the next decade, Arab district officers began to play a more important role in rural areas. As legal magistrates they gained increased responsibility for dealing with local crime, and as land settlement proceeded they provided the necessary link to mukhtars, whom they appointed. More significantly, the district officers were the focus of demands emanating from the villages; they transmitted or made recommendations on petitions for schools, land disputes, remission of tithe, and other immediate rural concerns. As the government extended its activity in these areas, Arab district officers took on greater responsibility for the efficient application of central policy decisions.15 The personal and religious connections of district officers remained the primary professional qualifications because their functions were of a general supervisory rather than technical nature.16 The only definite qualification imposed upon them in 1927 was that of pass­ ing certain legal examinations, and even failure in these did not by any means entail dismissal.17 Positive reports on the work of a Mus­ lim officer were apt to include statements like the following: "Not brilliant but very reliable and as a member of a leading Moslem fam­ ily enjoys a general respect which is of particular value at Nablus."18 In another case, the evaluation was even more explicit: "An out­ standing personality. Exactly the type of man for Administrative work in Palestine. A Moslem from a good family, he has great pres­ tige in the Northern District. He gains and retains the respect of both Palestinians and Europeans, military officers and civilians. Em­ braces the best traditions of the East with Western culture."19 The work of Christians in this office was somewhat different; their tech­ nical qualifications were sometimes better, but their relationship to the population could not always be as direct. In one case a district officer who had formerly worked in the Sudan was described as hav­ ing "to a marked degree the British common outlook of trying to do a job well for its own sake."20Another individual's report states that: He deals firmly with difficulties in the villages of his SubDistrict and is on good terms with the more notable personages but does not appear to enjoy the confidence of the people in general. I think that he will always do better in a Christian or Jewish Sub-District than in a Moslem.21

The Formation of a Public Service

53

In order to tighten the connections of officers with the population and to quiet discontent among educated Muslims, the government appointed many new district officers and cadets from among this group in the late twenties and especially between 1933 and 1937. By then the situation in the country had changed substantially, and this was reflected by changes within the district administration. Many of the new officers were still from prominent families, but they tended to be younger and almost all had B.A. degrees (the vast majority from the American University of Beirut). Thus they were equipped with modern educations and had grown up, at least in part, under British rather than Ottoman authority.22 The new administrators did not necessarily have closer connec­ tions to the rural Muslim population than older officers; it may well be that by upbringing and training they were further removed from them. As the new administrative apparatus became more firmly es­ tablished in Palestine, district officers often found themselves rela­ tively isolated. Their power to initiate activity in the subdistricts was minimal, due to both departmental centralization and super­ vision by British officers. At the same time, district officers were re­ quired to carry out policies with which they were not always in agreement and, occasionally, to bear the brunt of popular disaffec­ tion. By 1937 the district commissioner of Jerusalem wrote that: The prestige of the District Officer is steadily waning owing to the transfer of one duty after another to the departments. Magisterial duties at present give him some control over the po­ lice and some authority to stop village disputes, trespass on For­ est Lands and State Domain, and contravention against Public Health, Town Planning, etc. If a District Officer cannot himself imprison or fine for such offences and must become a complain­ ant or prosecutor before a junior official, his prestige and with it that of Government will have gone beyond recall.23 Nevertheless, British officials persisted in regarding district offi­ cers as links with the population and relied on them for effective control. This put considerable pressure on individuals who were often viewed by villagers as strangers and as representatives not only of a distant government but also of a different class. Moreover, the responsibilities of district officers required them in many cases to intervene in local disputes, making them vulnerable to charges of partisanship. Applications for or against transfer to certain areas often indicated

Government and Society, 1920-1936

54

the difficulties of finding officers who could work well in particular districts. In one case, tensions came close to violence: In 1934 there were municipal elections, as the result of which the old Mayor was thrown out, with the consequence that party feelings, which are always strong in Jenin as elsewhere, became much more embittered. The old Mayor and his friends laid the blame for their failure in the elections on Hanna Eff., the District Officer. They thereupon, proceeded to threaten and attack him in every possible way.24 A contrasting letter shows that strong feelings of dependence upon district officers were also beginning to develop in some areas by the mid-thirties. It has been rumored in the town and Sub-District that Govern­ ment intends to transfer the Arab District Officer from Safad to some other District Office. . . . It is to be known also that the appointment of an Arab District Officer has a great effect over the inhabitants, irrespective of the many advantages which took place in the Sub-District during the presence of an Arab District Officer. We, therefore, hereby crave Your Excellency to assure the Arab inhabitants of this Sub-District whose population exceeds 40,000 by retaining an Arab District Officer in the town.25 As a group, these Arab officials naturally oriented themselves to­ ward positions of power and political realities. Often operating in rural areas, the district officers nevertheless identified themselves not with ordinary villagers but with the notables, to whom they were often related. In the interest of preserving continuity, the Brit­ ish reinforced existing social divisions, which in turn meant that the district officers dealt with villages through their mukhtars. It was this group that acted on behalf of government in the villages and that was, simultaneously, held directly responsible for the actions of villagers. The Mukhtarship, 1920-36 From its inception in the nineteenth century, the position of mukhtar was intimately connected to authority outside of the village. It was an office created by the Ottoman government to replace the tradi­ tional leadership of sheikhs and bring rural areas more closely under

The Formation of a Public Service

55

external control. Thus it was not a customary position of personal leadership, but rather an integral part of the process toward more bu­ reaucratic government. According to Ottoman law mukhtars and vil­ lage councils were to be elected by villagers as their representatives. Regulations stipulated that mukhtars and elders were to be elected yearly by those over eighteen years of age who paid a specified amount in taxes; the results of this procedure were then to be forwarded to the local government representative.26 Whether such elections were in fact common in Palestine is open to considerable question. In its report on village administration in 1940, the Bailey Committee described the development of village authority prior to British occupation. According to the committee, the village council was not "a well defined elected entity"; often this was simply a formal term to describe the informal meetings of fam­ ily heads. Nevertheless, the committee pointed out, this body was the most potent force in the village. Ottoman authorities had con­ sidered it sound policy to respect this body of elders. The tacit ap­ proval of local administrators had thus supported customary, not written, law. Yet Ottoman legislation had caused a gradual bifurca­ tion. The Vilayet law had abolished the official position of sheikh, but many continued to act as village arbitrators. As administrators, they were gradually displaced by the newly created mukhtars.27 When the British occupied Palestine, Ottoman laws remained in effect and village mukhtars continued to act as government represen­ tatives. The disparity between law and custom, moreover, provided a rationale for nationalist opposition to the practice of appointing mukhtars. In a letter sent from the Muslim Christian Society in Je­ rusalem to the Executive Committee of the Palestine Arab Congress in August of 1924 the issue was raised with considerable force: The election of mukhtars has always been one of the rights of the people, since it is they who elect their mukhtars and it is they also who demanded their resignation when the need arose and they approved of that. But now it appears that the matter of appointing and dismissing the mukhtars is restricted to the gov­ ernors alone. . . . It should be demanded of the government that they restore the election of mukhtars to the people.28 The social and political context within which mukhtars operated is reflected in two letters describing representative incidents. One is a petition sent by villagers in Ma'dhar, a small village in Tiberias subdistrict. As rephrased by an official, the letter described the fol­ lowing situation:

56

Government and Society, 1920-1936

The village is being controlled by certain ambitious foreigners and has been divided into two parties. The first party represent­ ing the majority of the inhabitants oppose the minority party who are endeavoring to sell the lands of the village to the Jews. Petitioners while confident that Government officers help those who wish to maintain their lands, they find that the District Officer, Tiberias, has for certain unknown reasons, dismissed the Mukhtar who had the support and confidence of the inhabitants and appointed a certain Sa'id el-Wahid as acting Mukhtar. This man . . . only represents that party who are being employed by brokers who work day and night to sell the lands of the village to the Jews.29 In another case, police investigated a feud in the village of Ain Zeitoun, Safad subdistrict. After serious conflicts had occurred in the village, the district officer concluded: It appears that the whole trouble is being caused by the second Mukhtar Kamal Shaabi, who is using the case of the land dispute as a means for fighting the ex-Mukhtar's family on account of old enmity existing between the two families.30 One particular function of mukhtars helps to explain their in­ creasingly sensitive position under the new regime. As government functionaries, mukhtars were responsible for signing most official documents in the villages, including the papers validating land trans­ fers. Evidence from the 1920s and 1930s makes it clear that this for­ mality gave mukhtars an entirely new role in the villages. In a meet­ ing of district officers in Jerusalem held in 1933, discussion of the subject yielded general agreement: District Commissioner inquired whether the information that reached the High Commissioner to the effect that mukhtars are actively assisting land speculators in the villages is correct. Rural District Officers explained that this information is not without foundation and asserted that it is true that a number of mukhtars tempted by the prospect of good and easy profit readily assisted in various ways land speculators.31 A similar situation obtained in the Northern District, where the dis­ trict commissioner reported that mukhtars were acting directly as brokers in land sales.

The Formation of a Public Service

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Several factors are significant for understanding the mukhtar's role in Palestine during the first half of the mandate. First, rather than seeing themselves as government representatives in a prescribed geo­ graphical unit, mukhtars tended to act on behalf of particular groups within the village, usually based on kinship or religious ties. In fact, it was quite common for villages to have more than one mukhtar, each acting on behalf of his own constituency. Second, the develop­ ing land market affected internal village structure by exacerbating existing feuds and encouraging economic differentiation based on varying responses to the commercialization of property. Thus the mukhtar, who was seldom wealthy in his own right, was sim ultane­ ously exposed to new pressures and given greater leverage in the in­ ternal economic balance. Third, the role of district officers in ap­ pointing mukhtars and resolving or contributing to local disputes made these officers a focal point in the interrelationship of govern­ ment authority w ith village family patterns. As long as the villages maintained internal stability in the form of consensus, external forces remained marginal; but when general agreement was dis­ rupted, these forces could break deadlocks and influence cleavages.32 It was government policy to adhere to Ottoman precedents. The most common practice was for district officers to appoint mukhtars who were acceptable to village notables and to interfere only where divisions prevented general agreement. In some cases, such faction­ alism simply resulted in the multiplication of mukhtars, and gov­ ernment attempts to consolidate local leadership often created new discontent. In Ain Zeitoun, for example, the two leading families had traditionally had their own representatives; a change in 1930 sparked protests two years later: This amalgamation is illegal and especially where our family compromises [sic] the owners of the land, and the taxpayers. The position of the Mukhtar is to convey Government's orders; how can we therefore be under the presidency of a Mukhtar who is a labourer as well as all the members of his family. This con­ temptuous and unconventional state is self-explanatory. What we now ask from the Government is to adopt the customs in vogue and to appoint a Mukhtar for the Sha'abi family. This fam ily w ill recompensate this Mukhtar and does not ask the Government to pay him a salary.33 These complaints are particularly interesting because of the class distinctions made. The economic aspects of the mukhtarship were

58

Government and Society, 1920-1936

in fact quite important, since this official was responsible for all tax allocations and collections until 1935. His interest in this function was intensified by the fact that village mukhtars received 2 percent of the tithe until 1932 and 5 percent thereafter as state compensa­ tion for their services.34 Were the mukhtar a man of independent social and economic standing, questions of salary would of course have been largely sym­ bolic. This was not usually the case by the early 1930s. Characteris­ tically, the mukhtar was a representative chosen by the elders of the important hamula ("clan") or hamulas in a village and was not him­ self a primary figure. Although full statistical evidence is not avail­ able, there are no indications that mukhtars were generally signifi­ cant landowners under the mandate. As a rule, the mukhtarship in Palestine did not represent a posi­ tion of individual leadership or even necessarily of prestige. It is probably more accurate to see it as an instrumental office enabling its holder to accrue immediate benefits and family groups to en­ deavor to avoid direct control by outsiders. At the same time, govern­ ment officials sought to reach all groups within the village system through trustworthy representatives; for this purpose district officers appointed mukhtars on the basis of notable consensus, unless overt disagreement made this impossible. Feuds between hamulas often expressed themselves in conflicts over official leadership. The frequency with which succession to the mukhtarship remained in one family makes it clear that kinships re­ tained considerable significance in determining access to the office. Nevertheless, kinship cannot be viewed in isolation. As social rela­ tionships in Palestine changed, so too did the meaning of family di­ visions. As a result previous cleavages were often transformed in substance if not appearance.35 The case of Ijzim in Haifa Subdistrict is an interesting example of this development.36As one of a group of villages dominated by differ­ ent branches of a single family, Ijzim was particularly prone to fac­ tional disputes. On August 24, 1930, the district officer reported that the situation in this village was very serious because of a persistent conflict between Muin el-Madi and Nayef el-Madi, each of whom was aided by his brothers. In response, the area officer for Haifa sug­ gested that the two current mukhtars be suspended and that Fuad el-Madi, who was considered trustworthy, be appointed as sole au­ thority and held responsible for order in the village. A further note from the district officer on August 29 illuminates the relationship of this dispute to outside factors. According to this report, Muin el-Madi had for some time been paid a salary by the

The Formation of a Public Service

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Supreme Muslim Council. In contrast, Fuad el-Madi "was the only person of the Madi Family who during the riots went from village to village to prevent villagers from attacking Jewish Colonies . . . " Family differences were now clearly linked to broader political positions. Despite official intervention, tension continued in 19 31, centering on the alleged incompetence of the one mukhtar who re­ mained in office. The second mukhtar had resigned to attend police training school and thereby gain a better government position. In Ijzim, however, petitioners representing Muin's party claimed that the remaining mukhtar was not literate, was not a landowner of good reputation, and did not possess public confidence. In the estimation of the petitioners, he was therefore not qualified for his position. Despite such complaints, this individual remained in office throughout the difficult period of the thirties, continuing to cooper­ ate with the government. In 1941 he was charged by another villager with assault; the case was dropped, in part because the assistant dis­ trict commissioner felt that it was "most desirable to support the authority of village Mukhtars, whose official duties were not gener­ ally calculated to earn them popularity with their fellow villagers." By 1942 and 1943 pressure for the appointment of a second mukhtar was renewed, but this time new criteria were introduced. About one hundred villagers petitioned for the appointment of a younger man from another family. They described him as literate, but also as a peasant like themselves. Although this particular candidate held office for only a few years before being dismissed in 1947, the district officer now agreed that "any Mukhtar to be appointed must repre­ sent the majority of the Fellahin Class." This brief history of Ijzim mukhtars illustrates developments and relationships common to other villages as well. The existence of es­ tablished factions and conflicts over local hegemony often provided the background for decisions on the appointment of mukhtars (in the consideration of both villagers and district officers). The variations in number of mukhtars due to the struggle for direct personal repre­ sentation were also relatively common.37 Yet the evidence suggests strongly that local divisions merely fa­ cilitated the establishment of administrative control. Thus villagers called for a literate leadership because they believed that this de­ mand would be respected more than family or political claims. Ad­ ministrators, however, preferred to maintain a representative who could keep order and minimize tensions, probably the major func­ tion of mukhtars during much of the period. Other features of this case also suggest that broader patterns of na­ tional development began to enter into the lives of certain villages.

60

Government and Society, 1920-1936

The alternatives of minimizing conflict with Jewish neighbors or working for the Supreme Muslim Council were of particular signifi­ cance for Ijzim. In other cases, choices with respect to political ac­ tion were probably less polarized in the early thirties, but resolution was still imperative. Similarly, some villagers were calling attention to the need for a younger and more literate leadership, others to the cleavage between landlords and most villagers. Neither phenomenon was unique; both suggest increased generational and economic divi­ sion. Yet one of the most interesting aspects of these changes is how they seem to have been absorbed into existing social patterns. No discontinuity emerges from the evidence; there appears instead, to have been a gradual shift in emphases, a tendency to reallocate pri­ orities and consider new criteria of leadership alongside the old. The status of mukhtars in the villages depended originally on family support. As long as villages regulated their most important affairs autonomously, mukhtars acted to protect their position with village elders, among whom they exercised a limited form of power. Since villagers were not yet governed by statute, mukhtars con­ tinued to base their actions on custom. Their ability to collect taxes for the government depended on the skillful manipulation of local forces and respect for customary regulations. Until the early thirties the position of the Palestine government on mukhtars continued to be bound by Ottoman laws, and district administrators relied on village social controls to provide leaders re­ sponsible to the government. Changes were initiated in the early thirties in conjunction with general studies of rural life and official interest in introducing a new rural tax structure. Government offi­ cials began then to pay closer attention to the role, status, and re­ muneration of mukhtars. In June 1932 the three district commissioners met with the com­ missioner of lands at the request of the high commissioner to discuss mukhtars' duties. They considered the reports of French, Simpson, and Strickland and concluded that it would be better to strengthen rather than weaken the position of mukhtar. They believed that with a fixed salary and an increased commission on tax collections, better mukhtars could be induced to serve.38 At this point the administration had to choose between more effi­ cient village government and the continued use of customary chan­ nels. The former option seemed risky, since it threatened to under­ mine completely the position of largely illiterate mukhtars and thus to rupture connections with the traditional leadership. In contrast, it seemed possible to retain the status quo with only a minimal in­ vestment in elevating the prestige and competence of mukhtars.

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Renewed discussions in 1934 made it evident that district officials were anxious to maintain and develop the existing system by bind­ ing mukhtars more closely to the government apparatus. The com­ mittee argued that payment of a fixed salary would "create in the mind of a Mukhtar the idea that he is a Government official holding a position which it is worth his while to keep." They recommended again that mukhtars retain their function as tax collectors. While ad­ mitting that the present "class" of mukhtar was unlikely to contrib­ ute efficiency to the machinery of taxation, the district commis­ sioners gave clear priority to the maintenance of a link between the district administration and the rural population. They believed that this connection could best be obtained by the retention of mukhtars as part of the district administration.39 The committee was skeptical of finding "persons of the desired calibre" willing to be mukhtars; but apparently it considered tech­ nical ability less important than personal influence in ensuring vil­ lage accountability to government. Local administrators were appar­ ently prepared as well to sacrifice a measure of tax revenue in the interests of maintaining social and political control. Since the eco­ nomic situation precluded support for both mukhtars and a separate staff of tax collectors, the committee strongly recommended reten­ tion of the former. Officials in the Colonial Office were very skeptical. One pointed out that various reports, including two studies of the Rural Property Tax, had indicated the need for a more efficient system of tax collec­ tion in Palestine. His conclusion was: "That only by accident will a villager who is suited for the functions of mukhtar . . . be also quali­ fied to keep records of tax collections, and the various land, crop, un­ employment, etc., registers, the institution of which has been rec­ ommended by such experts as Mr. Strickland and Mr. French."40 This argument, transmitted by the colonial secretary, led the high commissioner to reconvene the Palestine Committee, now includ­ ing the deputy treasurer. By July of 1935, the high commissioner was able to communicate a proposal that satisfied all those concerned. General improvement in the economic situation now permitted a division of duties be­ tween village tax collectors and mukhtars. The final scheme de­ prived the latter of all direct responsibility for taxation. Instead, they would "be maintained, but for general and specific duties not neces­ sarily requiring literacy." Mukhtars would be compensated with a regular annual salary based on the population of their villages. Where two or more served in one village, the sum would be divided in pro­ portion to their community.41

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Government and Society, 1920-1936

This entire correspondence includes a lengthy list of mukhtars' duties. It is clear from the discussion, however, that these officials were valuable not for what they could do, but rather because of who they were or could be. Accordingly, British officials in Palestine con­ centrated on elevating the status of mukhtars, in order to make them more reliable both as sources of information and as instruments of control. After stating his interest in "educating the mukhtar to liter­ acy and sustaining his prestige," the high commissioner concluded his letter on the subject as follows: "I need not re-state my opinion of the value of capable mukhtars to Government in prevention of rowdyism and explaining Government aims and action to their fel­ low villagers, who are very excitable by nature; or the need of gradu­ ally raising the standard, at present generally poor, among the worse paid of the present mukhtars."42 By 1935, therefore, villages were being introduced to a dichotomy increasingly common in Palestine: on the one hand, traditional posi­ tions of leadership like the mukhtarship were being absorbed into a bureaucracy under foreign control; on the other hand, technical per­ sonnel (both British and Arabs of less distinguished classes) were usurping roles of practical importance. Although this schism de­ rived from the attempt to maintain some semblance of legitimacy, it effectively destroyed the criteria on which such belief had rested. Teachers Arab teachers were among the most important groups of profession­ als trained under the mandate. The Palestine Department of Educa­ tion employed a large staff of Palestinians. Its teaching body and inspectorate ranged from highly educated men and women to village teachers with remarkably little formal training. Although policy de­ cisions remained the prerogative of British directors, the actual func­ tioning of the system depended almost entirely on local personnel. Their willingness to operate along the lines established by central­ ized directives—often in opposition to personal views—was an im­ portant element in the department's effectiveness.43 The Department of Education was distinctive in its relationship to the Arab community. Unlike other administrative services, the gov­ ernment school system served only one of the two Palestinian popu­ lations; the Jewish community preferred to control its own school system and had the resources to do so. Inevitably the system, created to serve only one community, was organized and staffed along na­ tional lines. Yet persistent tension between Arab departmental offi­

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cials and the British directors reflected the problems of a system that was structurally national yet governed by nonnationalist values. Teachers who worked in cities or larger towns often resolved this tension by working with the nationalist movement, either by mak­ ing written contributions or occasionally through active participa­ tion. The village teacher often faced greater difficulty integrating personal commitments with occupational demands. The rural edu­ cational structure was sharply bifurcated between highly trained re­ gional inspectors and local teachers. Village teachers often found themselves caught between the desire to achieve integration into rural society and aspirations for professional development. As the mandate wore on, expansion of the school system led to the absorption of villagers themselves into the educational corps. Un­ like district officers or mukhtars, who represented a large measure of continuity with Ottoman stratification, the rural teaching body was drawn from groups with no inherited links from the past. They formed a distinct body primarily through employment in the Depart­ ment of Education. Surviving personnel records provide insight into the relationship between this group and the villages in which they taught.44 Discussions of rural progress, reconstruction, stagnation, or change in Palestine often dwelt on the focal role of education and, in particu­ lar, of teachers as the bearers of hope.45 In villages with little tradi­ tion of the school as an institution, teachers came to be identified with local educational aspirations and their achievements frequently depended upon interpersonal skills. The fact that teachers were often the sole permanent representatives of extra-village authority in­ creased their significance while at the same time magnifying the dif­ ficulty of their task. Any systematic attempt to utilize education for rural development depended heavily upon the training of teachers. The government took no serious initiatives along these lines until 1930, but by 1935 a limited corps was emerging from the Kadoorie School of Agricul­ ture and the Rural Teachers Training Center. An official who was ac­ tively involved in this program outlined the expectations of village teachers in this period. He spoke of the village teacher's role, in edu­ cating the population about health issues, organizing sports clubs, and encouraging social events for village youth. He suggested that the best way to deal with feud and faction in the villages was to supply the young in particular with adequate recreational opportunities.46 Exaggerated expectations of what could be accomplished by vil­ lage teachers were not unusual in these years. The skills demanded

64

Government and Society, 1920-1936

of rural personnel were different from those required in towns. A l­ though the level of knowledge provided in village schools was usu­ ally rudimentary, actual conditions demanded that a teacher deal with one to four classes simultaneously and understand the impact of local social conditions on the pupils. The frustrations inherent in such a situation were evident in the fact that for the first ten years of the mandate fewer than half the village children who entered school completed four years; although this changed after 1930, it remained true that education in most villages imparted only bare literacy. The growing number of rural children who wanted more extensive educa­ tion were usually forced to move from one school center to another, which in itself limited their numbers.47 Nevertheless, increased educational mobility eventually created opportunities for graduates to enter government employment. This is exemplified first and foremost by the make-up of the teaching group itself. In the first ten years of the mandate, the new admin­ istration continued to rely on individuals who had matured before World War I and whose training was often religious in character. A l­ though the majority were Muslim men, a relatively large number of the males were Christian; among female teachers, Christians pre­ dominated. These proportions changed with the establishment of a new educational system that consciously sought to satisfy Muslim needs.48 Even when new graduates of the Men's Training College began to teach, however, most of them had been born in towns. As a result, village teachers employed before 1930 tended to be of urban origin and had difficulty adjusting to village conditions. This was evidenced in the relatively frequent complaints by district inspectors that teachers were becoming involved in local feuds and were not main­ taining the distance appropriate to their official positions.49 The types of conflict engendered or encountered by teachers reveal a good deal about village life in these years. At times, conflicts in mores gave rise to disputes of honor. In the report of a typical case, an assistant district officer detailed the problems faced by a Safadi sheikh in the village of Firim (Safad Subdistrict). He described the sheikh's interference in local matters and his son's love affair with a village girl. To avoid bloodshed the two had been married, but the villagers had requested that they be sent away for violating the honor of the village.50 Differences in social behavior were not uncommonly the cause of negative reactions and of threats to withdraw children from the schools. The positions of the few women who taught in villages were particularly vulnerable. The district officer for Acre commented on

The Formation of a Public Service

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one woman who ran a girls' school in Tarshiha but alienated parents by her behavior. Complaints about her interference and gossiping had led to parental threats to keep their girls at home if she returned for the following year.51 Strain also developed as a result of some teachers' attempts to combine private interests with official positions. Active political in­ volvements were rare in the twenties, but the following case illus­ trates village divisions and the opportunities open to a teacher: His [the teacher in Farradia, Safad Subdistrict] constant as­ sociation with some influential men in the village who are re­ garded by the middle and third class inhabitants as absorbers of their wealth on account of their usury has rendered his position in the village somewhat undesirable. As a member of an influen­ tial family at Safad he seeks the favour of village elders with the hope of utilizing their friendship for party services.52 In other cases, teachers used their positions to perform marriage cere­ monies for fees, lend money, sell books, or otherwise engage in com­ mercial endeavors.53 Those who came from towns and began teaching in the twenties sometimes resented the demands made on them by villagers. At times they were drawn into local factionalism. In other cases, they experienced personal difficulties. On the whole, those who had diffi­ culty were individuals with some degree of secondary education or higher training; the disparity between their expectations and the sit­ uation in which they found themselves generated considerable con­ flict. On occasion this dissatisfaction was expressed in the request for transfer to an urban position. One example is characteristic of the motivation in many cases: "For the last seven years I have been appointed in the furthest villages, away from Nablus, my native town and my family which is composed of seven members and whose life is wholly dependent on the salary I am drawing."54Although dis­ trict inspectors often disputed the legitimacy of such requests, it is significant that many individuals expressed a desire to remain close to family and place of birth. The claim of economic hardship made in this case was also common. The evidence suggests that the major­ ity of teachers were quite poor and relied heavily on the small salary they earned in service.55 The early thirties marked the most concerted official effort to im­ prove village education. As a result, two processes were put in mo­ tion. Village students with sufficient means to pursue an education (but usually not of notable families) were drawn into the public ser­

66

Government and Society, 1920-1936

vice. Specific training for work in rural areas was developed with a view to serving villages more adequately. Moreover/as younger men trained under the mandate took over new positions, the problem of environmental maladjustment decreased substantially and the num­ ber of those who worked well in rural areas increased. The institu­ tion of centers for training rural teachers and the general emphasis placed on rural development particularly in the early thirties seem to have encouraged more positive involvement with villagers, at least temporarily.56 The decade of the thirties marked a significant transition. A large proportion of the older staff continued to teach, but they were gradu­ ally being joined by new graduates. A substantial proportion of these had been born in villages; although teachers of urban origin still pos­ sessed a higher degree of education, the disparity was beginning to narrow. The most striking change in the years between 1927 and 1936 was the development of new criteria for evaluating village teachers. In­ spectors began to stress practical activity in the villages as an inte­ gral aspect of the educator's work. In many cases they commented unfavorably on the personal distractions of older teachers. Depart­ mental policy clearly favored a professionalism that would distance teachers from the social and political conflicts in the midst of which they lived.57 In the thirties the Palestinian teaching staff did become more clearly divided according to educational background. Temporary ex­ pansion coincided with the recruitment of villagers to bring younger trained teachers into the schools. The department sought to take ad­ vantage of these developments to improve control over rural schools, but political and personal factors impeded these efforts. Teachers with a full secondary education and/or professional training often had aspirations that could not be fulfilled in villages. Even those who began teaching with hopes of improving rural conditions were frustrated; the promise of service too often turned into the responsi­ bility for failure. The lack of basic amenities such as clinics and schools for their own families drove many to request transfers. Al­ most half of those for whom we have records requested positions ei­ ther in towns or in other areas of government service.58 Administrators sympathized with the problems faced by trained teachers in the countryside. Where possible they acceded to requests for transfer. In response to this constant loss villagers themselves be­ gan to recruit unclassified teachers from among themselves at local expense. Such teachers usually lacked specialized training, but their

The Formation of a Public Service

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general qualifications were adequate. Their work was subject to offi­ cial review, and a significant number eventually received regular ap­ pointments. It was a measure of the growing interest in education that such candidates became more available and that villagers ex­ pended their own funds to create adequate facilities.59 This tendency toward loss of trained teachers with the consequent removal of initiatives to localities created continuing tension be­ tween regional and national loyalties. What the Department of Edu­ cation intended was clear in its handling of teacher distribution. Its usual practice was to transfer teachers regularly from one village to another within the same district. The reasons given for such moves varied. Sometimes they were justified as necessary for adequate cov­ erage of a number of schools. At other times inspectors suggested that particular teachers were becoming stale or, just the opposite, were too involved in local affairs. Teachers themselves frequently asked for placement near their own homes, and if possible their re­ quests were honored. The practice of regular transfer had distinct ad­ vantages from the official point of view: it minimized integration into particular villages, with attendant involvement in local politics; at the same time, it kept mobility within regional limits, thus pro­ tecting family and community claims on the individual.60 The department did not succeed in detaching Arab teachers from the conflicts of their environment. This group tended instead to di­ vide more and more and decisively into urban staff, who were bet­ ter trained, and rural instructors, who often lacked opportunities for promotion or further training. Those with sufficient education gained mobility and, with it, a national context for their work. There were villagers who completed secondary school, particularly in the thirties, and then sought government employment beyond their homes. This was one limited way in which the development of schools began to affect rural Palestinians. In addition, the use of un­ classified teachers led to de facto decentralization of education, bringing village schools more firmly under local control. This devel­ opment strengthened regional affiliation and family ties, but it also contributed to the extension of government supervision through control over personnel not directly hired by the department. One aspect of the government's role in villages is well documented in the reports of district inspectors of education and district officers. When villagers came into conflict with teachers, they frequently turned to these officers as mediators. Complaints of teachers' drink­ ing, leaving schools unattended, beating pupils, or keeping unac­ ceptable company were more frequent than political controversies,

68

Government and Society, 1920-1936

but all were represented in the reports sent to Jerusalem. In the course of their investigations, moreover, district inspectors collected detailed information on the habits of village teachers.61 The personal investigations and recommendations submitted by supervisory officials are typified by a series of letters about Sa'di Muhammad Shihadeh from the district inspector of education in the Galilee to the director of education in November and December 1934. On November 19, the inspector wrote a detailed account of the po­ litical conflicts between Sa'di Shihadeh and other teachers, all of them teaching in the Safad area. Lengthy evidence of political party involvements in Safad, as well as unwillingness to comply with de­ partmental rules to remain in the village, led the writer to recom­ mend dismissal. A month later, a short letter indicates that in this case political activity was compounded by unacceptable personal be­ havior. The report illustrates the investigative techniques and logic used by inspectors: I forward herewith a letter from the Headmaster of Kufr-Kanna Village School that Sa'di Shihadeh has fallen into the habit of intoxication and keeps company with undesirable persons. . . . The Headmaster reports this matter on the witness of both Benjamin Saleh, a teacher in the school who lives opposite Sa'di Shihadeh and the Superior of the Greek Orthodox convent. These persons being reliable there is not the slightest doubt about the truth of the reported facts. The conduct of Sa'di Shihadeh is affecting adversely the tone of the school and his prestige in the village seems to have been lost. In my opinion, Sa'di Shihadeh should be transferred to a re­ mote village in the Southern district.62 This report, by no means unusual, shows the extent to which teachers were liable to scrutiny by their superiors as well as by vil­ lagers. At the same time, it is clear that departmental officials were often reluctant to dismiss even those teachers with records of con­ duct considered unprofessional and irresponsible. In this case trans­ fer was a way of avoiding the dismissal recommended earlier. It is also true that teachers themselves often perceived their rela­ tionship to the Department of Education in highly paternalistic terms. A letter from one teacher in Safad, protesting his transfer to Tarshiha village, illustrates the common tendency to mix personal with impersonal reasoning and to rely on emotional pleas. After cit­ ing the progress he has achieved in teaching Arabic, this individual speaks of his wish to learn English and be promoted within the de­

The Formation of a Public Service

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partment. He claims that this ambition will be disappointed if the department insists on his transfer. The letter goes on to state that, in addition, he has bought all the provisions for his house for the com­ ing year and that his wife, who has been ill, could not move with him. Thus the appeal couples professional with personal motives for resisting the move.63 Requests for transfer often elicited evaluations from district in­ spectors of education, in addition to specific complaints. One peti­ tion for transfer to Jenin provoked a letter of opposition to the direc­ tor of education. In it the district inspector pointed out that the teacher in question belonged to a family politically active in Jenin, that he suspected other officials in the department of having worked to gain this teacher a position there, and that three other sons from the same family were also in the department. The district inspector systematically analyzed the various reasons given to support the transfer and argued that none merited approval. He concluded as fol­ lows: "With regard to his marriage—which I wish it to be happy— with an educated girl. I assure you that educated women who share the loneliness of their husbands in dreary villages are not rare in Sa­ maria District."64 This lengthy argument provides a good sample of the factors that entered into departmental handling of personnel. Moreover, it reveals the social divisions that hindered development of even a limited professional unity. While this letter is an unusually open admission of the political conflicts among Arab officials, such factors undoubtedly played a role in other cases as well.65 Palestinians of various backgrounds worked for the Department of Education. Their British superiors expected them to use personal skills in the service of professional goals, as well as to limit personal involvement when it threatened to conflict with departmental inter­ ests. Differences between an impersonal, imported definition of ap­ propriate behavior and the priority of nationalist claims became par­ ticularly evident in the field of education. The rank and file of teachers were entering a professional stratum for the first time in the history of their families. In many cases they found themselves torn between official directives, often articulated by Arab inspectors of a higher class, and emotional commitments to open opposition. In Palestine it became almost a truism that the schools and their teachers (both Jewish and Arab) were active in the nationalist move­ ments. Utter separation between Jewish and Arab systems contrib­ uted to the formation of distinct ideological groupings within the educated sector. Like other government officials, public school teach­ ers generally managed to combine their communal interests with government employment.

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Government and Society, 1920-1936

By the mid-thirties, growing numbers of Palestinians turned to the administration for work. Whatever their position, they gradually found that the implementation of government policy could give rise to conflicting loyalties and to the frustrations of carrying out direc­ tives over which they had little control. Arabs could and did serve to link villagers with the Palestine government, but they could do little to control the effects of the policies that they came to represent.

5. Village Administration

Rural Administration, 1920-36 Just as it sent representatives into the villages for technical pur­ poses, the Palestine government also drew villagers into its bureau­ cracy. Individual officials rarely idealized the rural society in which they operated, but they often sought to aid villagers in concrete ways. Despite ambivalence toward the conditions they found, they formed an important source of authority in the countryside. Con­ strained by innumerable limitations, government employees never­ theless began to form a link between the villagers and the mandatory power. As they worked in different regions, they became aware of the gaps between local needs and resources; yet because of the context in which they were undertaken, their efforts to close these gaps were rarely successful. From the beginning of the mandate, government policy toward the villages aimed at achieving administrative stability without altering existing social relationships. The British limited their objectives in rural areas to the minimum they associated with responsible govern­ ment. Priority was given to public order and efficient collection of taxes. The expansion of services and development of the agricultural economy remained secondary, in part because they depended on the generation of adequate revenue. In theory, the Palestine government resisted innovation. Whenever new legislation was considered, Ottoman precedents provided the basis for discussion, and British officials sought to formulate their policy in accordance with these norms. This approach contained several fallacies. Ottoman laws had rarely been implemented on the village level. Moreover, the Ottoman political system bore little re­ semblance to that of the mandate. The former had been designed to govern a large area in which most social groups remained distant

72

Government and Society, 1920-1936

from the center of power. The latter was limited territorially and sought to establish greater social control. Inevitably, therefore, the British or Arab officers who applied law under the mandate brought with them new expectations. Their judgments respected local cus­ tom where possible, but customary procedure was now integrated into a larger system based on Western legal concepts. Custom was no longer an inherently legitimate source, but had to be rendered com­ patible with externally imposed standards. The interaction between administrators and villagers was consequently impeded by an un­ acknowledged barrier of conflicting expectations. British officials presumed that the state and its legal system were impersonal mecha­ nisms with inherent legitimacy. Villagers viewed both as suspect and extended recognition only when it was forced on them. The position of Palestinian officials who were called upon to maintain the struc­ tural continuity of a personal system of authority while meeting the standards of a modern bureaucracy epitomized these contradictions. The limited nature of any government initiatives in rural areas pre­ vented underlying tensions from coming to the surface during most of the mandate, but it gradually became evident that a more articula­ ted legal structure was necessary. The legal framework for administration of rural areas was devel­ oped gradually. It embodied no general policy but was governed at all times by the desire to avoid unnecessary changes. Consequently, principles of collective responsibility and control were retained. The government accepted mukhtars and notables as village represen­ tatives on their own terms. In addition, villagers were made liable financially for many services that the urban population received at government expense.1 The first mandatory law that granted a measure of governing power to local bodies was a short, rather vague provision entitled the Local Council Ordinance, 1921. Its general terms were formulated to pro­ vide maximum flexibility for the creation of councils in distinctive town quarters as well as in large villages. A second, clarifying ordi­ nance was published six months later. The two bills constituted en­ abling legislation that required specific orders for their application in any given instance.2 By the terms of these laws, the high commissioner could, on the recommendation of the district governor, declare that a large village, a group of villages, or a distinctive quarter should be administered by a local council. Such a council would then have the right to impose taxes, raise loans, enter into other contracts, or pass bylaws to secure order. The council's budget would be subject to approval by the dis­ trict governor and, in appropriate cases, the relevant municipality.

Village Administration

73

All other functions and the composition of the council were to be specified in the particular order required for each case. Although the Arab community might have gained both experience and self-confidence through participation in such bodies, this poten­ tial was largely unrealized. Inherent obstacles to villagers' utiliza­ tion of local councils, particularly in the first fifteen years of the mandate, counteracted any incentive they might have offered. Exten­ sive rural poverty prohibited villages or small towns from undertak­ ing significant projects on an autonomous basis. The supervisory power of district commissioners (defined in each order applying to Arab villages) also deprived the councils of full responsibility for their actions. Villages were generally dominated by a small set of competing leaders, and the decisive role of an outside authority only strengthened their tendency to rely on manipulation rather than compromise to retain control.3 In the first few years after the enactment of the Local Council Or­ dinance, 1 921, approximately twenty councils, both Arab and Jew­ ish, were established.4Most of the orders creating Arab councils pro­ vided for a limited franchise, restricted prerogatives, and carefully controlled access to office. The villages of Tantoura and Tira (Haifa Subdistrict) illustrate the fate of some of the councils: both had councils for short periods of time, but they were then "abolished owing to dissension and quarrels amongst the members of the vari­ ous families."5 Failure to establish a comprehensive structure of representative in­ stitutions led the government to seek other ways to support village services.6 In 1926 the Village Roads and Works Ordinance was pro­ mulgated. Based on Ottoman provisions, it incorporated the prin­ ciple that villages were responsible for financing local projects. Every male villager between the ages of sixteen and sixty could thereby be required to contribute either a tax or labor for the construction of roads or sanitation works. Village leaders were made nominally re­ sponsible for outlining a program of works, but their primary respon­ sibility was to furnish a list of those liable to the tax. The district commissioner retained the power to authorize work that he consid­ ered necessary and determined the amount of tax to be paid.7 The ordinance was expanded and amended several times to broaden its jurisdiction. Although limited progress was made, the financial situation of most villages did not permit extensive projects until the 1940s. The rural community was left largely to itself in this regard. As a result, despite the increase in the number of roads in the coun­ try, many villages remained relatively isolated and accessible only on horseback.8

74

Government and Society, 1920-1936

The nature of village communities also created problems in con­ trolling crime. Since feuds were the product of strong family and fac­ tional identifications, it was difficult to apply personal sanctions. The Collective Punishment Ordinance of 1925, which sought to deal with this problem, became an important foundation for the control of criminal behavior, both personal and political, in the villages. This law recognized the strength of a social system based on mutual protection rather than individual justice. An entire village, there­ fore, could be held responsible for damages inflicted by one of its in­ habitants. It was assumed that local notables knew in most cases who was responsible, and their unwillingness to share such informa­ tion was now turned against them. Although village leaders thus re­ tained the power to allocate fines, they also bore the onus involved.9 By 1930 the difficulty of applying the Collective Punishment Or­ dinance to ordinary crime in isolated villages became apparent. A re­ port from the administrative officer in Nablus details the difficulties of containing the agrarian crimes and murders that frequently ac­ companied family feuds. Often mukhtars who knew the responsible party did not want to expose themselves to reprisals by cooperating with an investigation. The local officials responsible for order there­ fore suggested that such incidents be dealt with immediately "by an officer with knowledge of the facts and persons as it is in no way a judicial proceeding."10 Banishment was suggested as an effective punishment. Such cases exemplify one type of confrontation between village society and representatives of outside authority. Officials seeking to enforce the law inadvertently helped to undermine it. The apparent advantages of respecting local leadership led them to reinforce its monopoly over access to government power. The desire to be effec­ tive, however, created frustration with local custom and led to ef­ forts to circumvent it. The resort to administrative hearings rather than regular trials was an unhappy compromise. While personal knowledge of district officers replaced that of mukhtars, the older system continued to exist, albeit in the guise of more impersonal mechanisms for administering justice. Evidence on the operation of local councils in Arab villages rein­ forces the impression that the attempt to incorporate existing social relationships into new institutions served only to undermine both. By 1933 fourteen Arab local councils were functioning, but ten years later the number had decreased to eleven. Moreover, three of the nine village local councils that existed in 1945 were in purely Chris­ tian areas, while one had a Christian minority; yet in 1941 there were only nine entirely Christian villages in all of Palestine. It is

Village Administration

75

clear, therefore, that Muslim Arab villagers benefited marginally at best from the existence of local councils.11 The difficulties experienced by both government officials and the rural population in creating representative institutions were not merely technical. They reflected a wide gap in assumptions about decision-making processes. To be successful, the new concept of electoral politics required an appropriate social context—one gener­ ally lacking in Arab villages and unlikely to develop without eco­ nomic changes. Historically, leaders in the villages acted as mediators between personal "constituencies" and superior authorities. In contrast, elected councils required members to make individual decisions and to identify with the representative institution as well as with a par­ ticular sector of those represented. In Palestinian villages politics, like family, was based on prescribed loyalties and unstated rules; it could not readily be adjusted to electoral forms. The dissolution of nonfunctioning village councils on the grounds of family dissension was simply an official admission that the new structure could not be successful without a concurrent reformula­ tion of its social and cultural base. Those councils that lasted did so by assimilating theoretically innovative institutions to established conceptions of authority. There was continued predominance of hamula divisions, and one of the most important functions that local councils chose to perform, particularly before 1936, was that of pre­ senting village needs to governmental authorities. In this way they re­ tained a familiar mediating position. For the most part, the few coun­ cils that functioned remained the preserve of existing leadership.12 Petitions, one of the most common channels of communication used by villagers, were often addressed by local councils to the high commissioner. These appeals sought to circumvent district admin­ istrators and apprise the highest authority of the villagers' plight. Despite such efforts, however, district officials continued in most cases to determine official response. A petition from the president of Rameh's Local Council to the high commissioner provides an ex­ ample of such indirect checks on initiative. The requests transmit­ ted by this appeal were common ones: extension of educational fa­ cilities, installation of a telephone in the village, writing off tithes and seed loans. Government aid was requested because the eco­ nomic depression had impoverished the villagers. Nevertheless, the district commissioner of Haifa, who was responsible in large mea­ sure for allocating scarce funds, opposed a positive response to any of these requests.13 Another, more complex situation is indicated in a speech made by

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Government and Society, 1920-1936

the local council president of Bira in welcoming the high commis­ sioner to his village. The introduction reveals thinly veiled irritation, belying the notion that villagers were unaware of their impotence: Your Excellency, It is a precious opportunity whereby I am permitted to stand and welcome you in the name of the people of Bira for this visit with which Your Excellency has honoured us today. I say rare be­ cause, I regret to assert, that the village of Bira has for some time been denied the honour of his Excellency's visits while other vil­ lages and towns are enjoying this privilege. . . . Our demands are many, your Excellency but I shall satisfy myself at present by submitting the most urgent, hoping that Your Excellency will most seriously consider them, so that we might be able to abol­ ish the idea that Government is neglecting the interests of the village of Bira.14 In this case, the request for government aid was based on the inade­ quacy of funds collected from the population,* it is clear that the lo­ cal council had been active on its own. At the same time, a minority petition from 250 citizens of Bira protested the education tax levied by their own council and requested new elections. It is apparent, therefore, that initiatives on the part of village leaders were subject not only to administrative frustration but also to popular opposition. Such petitions reflect the wide range of social and political condi­ tions obtaining even within Arab communities that could be brought under the Local Council Ordinance. Beyond this, however, they show that the institutions outlined theoretically in this legislation could not contain the growing pressure for economic relief and material improvement. Government and Society: Development up to 1935 By 1935 Palestine still lacked an integrating political structure based on self-governing units. The extent to which this situation disturbed the high commissioner is evident in his desire to bring villages under the working Municipal Corporations Ordinance. On June 2, 1934, the chief secretary wrote to all district commissioners that the high commissioner thought it would be a good idea to encourage villagers to ask for municipal councils.15 The district commissioners, meeting in Jerusalem on July 18, 1934, did not support this proposal, which would have blurred the distinction between rural and urban populations. The minutes of

Village Administration

77

their meeting state that village councils should meet certain condi­ tions before being qualified to become municipal councils; these conditions included a minimum of ten thousand inhabitants, at least five years7experience as a local council, and a sufficiently large budget.16 Such stipulations pertained largely to the expanding Jewish settlements. Local administrators trying to formulate provisions for representative institutions continually found it impossible to pro­ vide for all conditions under uniform legislation. They argued re­ peatedly that conditions were so different in individual Arab villages and Jewish settlements that any standardization would be mean­ ingless. At times, officials also argued that electoral forms were too advanced for Palestinians and that local inhabitants should prove their ability to conduct local government before elaborate measures were taken. The result of these discussions was to leave local affairs almost entirely in the hands of district administrators.17 The difficulty of legislating for villages.as a whole or of providing a comprehensive framework meaningful to both Arabs and Jews had become increasingly evident by 1935. In that year the high commis­ sioner appointed a committee to examine part 4 of the Local Gov­ ernment Bill (which had never been promulgated) and to recommend measures for extending rural self-government. The report of this committee, headed by the district commissioner for Jerusalem, re­ mained within the established structure,- its conclusions confirm the impression that the authors were seeking a solution that would ensure support for public works without any definitive transfer of power from the district commissioners to village councils.18 The exceedingly complex problems facing Palestinian adminis­ trators at this time led easily to a confused set of initiatives that were clarified only in 1944. The early thirties, as we have seen, marked the beginning of an important period of economic differentiation and political organization with the Arab community. The agricul­ tural depression of these years made local resources scarce; simulta­ neously, political agitation, intensified Jewish settlement and articu­ lated British commitments to development aroused a demand for progress in the expansion of educational facilities, agricultural aid, road building, and other necessities. Since the central government was not prepared or able to finance such undertakings on a massive scale, district administrators were forced to depend primarily on local sources for funds. At the same time, popular resistance to taxation increased their inclination to mistrust any genuinely autonomous form of local government. In this attitude, district officials were often supported by the preferences of village notables, whose position nor­ mally rested on their role as mediators and who preferred not to bur­

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Government and Society, 1920-1936

den themselves with the responsibility of imposing taxes unless it carried reasonably extensive powers of control as well. Government analyses of village feuding and the failure of local councils at times led to the conclusion that only stronger adminis­ trative control could ensure peace and rural stability. Ironically, this emphasis on stability further exacerbated the strain of a community trying to formulate its problems. Agricultural depression combined with exposure to new technical and occupational possibilities to make villagers more conscious of their own entrapment. Responses to their requests for help rarely included recognition of this change and of the efforts required to master it. In May 1931, the commissioner of lands wrote a lengthy memo­ randum on the "Attitude of the Rural Population." In it he spoke of villagers who felt that the government had no interest in them. Much of this is mere parrot repetition of views expressed by antiGovernment propagandists but District Authorities appeared to be impressed by the attitude of villagers, many of whom have become sullen or indifferent as a result of their financial situa­ tion and no longer make any effort to extricate themselves from their indebtedness to Government or to money-lenders.19 In subsequent years government officials in some districts made an effort to encourage the use of new agricultural techniques, the for­ mation of cooperative societies, and the building of new schools; short-term loans to cultivators were also issued. It might be claimed that these initiatives offered too little and came too late, but in any case district administrators rarely addressed village interests di­ rectly. This was illustrated in a report written by the district officer for Nazareth in which he described a meeting of cultivators that he had addressed in the following manner: Perhaps some of you came to hear news of loans or some thought that we have come to distribute money. Perhaps some of you came to enquire about land for displaced Arabs. If the case is so you are mistaken, but I have something far better to say to you. It would please you very much to hear that your Assistant District Commissioner is very interested in the Fellah and wishes all prosperity to you and has produced these leaflets of "The Clever Peasant" in order to shake you up from sleep.20 The rest of the report affirms the interest shown by those present in this pamphlet. Yet, whether the officer was entirely serious or not,

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it is evident that basic fears and needs were being left unanswered. Other reports summarizing similar meetings under this program of "Village Improvements" in the Galilee District confirm this impression. The program that district officers carried into the villages was aimed at motivating villagers to better their conditions of life, as well as productivity. Yet no coordinated effort at development was ever made, and new techniques or ideas were introduced on the assump­ tion that the established socioeconomic order could absorb them. The Race for Economic Stabilization In formulating guidelines for rural policy, government officers tried to reinforce what they viewed as established Arab custom. When they created local councils, they bolstered the position of notables as representatives of tradition. This tendency to administer villages in accordance with perceived tradition made it easier to view official actions as nonintrusive. The mandatory authorities themselves thus often seemed to be oblivious to the consequences of their own pres­ ence. Yet the conscious struggle to preserve the existing forms of Arab village culture took place in the presence of counterforces also encouraged by British control. As the Jewish National Home became a concrete reality, it im­ pinged directly on village experience. British efforts to shape the economic effects of this development show the extent to which pol­ icy decisions remained compartmentalized. At the top levels of the Palestine government, priority was necessarily assigned to measures that would permit Jewish settlement without harm and possibly with benefit to the general Arab economy. Locally, officials were more cognizant of the daily pressures faced by village farmers, but the measures they could take rarely bore any direct relationship to the emerging large-scale changes in Palestinian economic structure. Economic decision making was not and could not be divorced from the political goals of the mandatory,- but these goals were not, as is so often assumed, either pro-Jewish or pro-Arab. The British sought the attainment of conditions that would ensure comfortable control over Palestine. High officials juggled the demands of both com­ munities with this goal in mind to arrive at what looked like a middle way. Tension over the preservation of economic stability in the coun­ tryside grew slowly in the 1920s, becoming increasingly serious in the 1930s. Since the battle was waged over the fate of the largely illit­ erate and often inarticulate village population, it is worth examining

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the positions taken by the state, as legal protector of the local popu­ lation, in greater detail. Herbert Samuel's satisfaction with the results of his administra­ tion is reflected in his final report: The population gradually came to understand the spirit that ani­ mates a British Administration. The activity of the district officers, always in and out of the villages, obviously working for the benefit of the people, had a widespread effect. . . . The Administration was as active in promoting the welfare of the Arabs as if there had been no Zionist complication and no refusal to cooperate; it has been animated in this respect by the same spirit as any British Administration in Asia or Africa.21 There could be no more confident expression of the belief that Brit­ ish definitions of what was "for the benefit of the people" were unquestionable. In 1927 Ronald Symes offered a similar, but more complex, interpretation. He characterized the nationalist movement as a growing force but one dominated by "effendis": Although revolutionary tactics are discredited for the moment, it is clear to the leaders that their interests can best be promoted through popular agitation on Egyptian Nationalist lines. But the peasantry, they note with apprehension, show a growing ten­ dency to distinguish between National and Effendi class interest, and as the material benefits of alien government become more apparent, their present monopoly of political leadership may be threatened. Time is therefore a factor which they dare not ignore.22 His analysis of the cleavage between urban leaders and villagers was accurate, but he drew a mistaken conclusion. Although social and economic change did generate conflict within the Arab community, no significant inclination to accept alien government as such devel­ oped. Moreover, the economic depression, which had a severe impact on agriculture between 1927 and 1933, aroused new dissatisfaction. A villager's letter to Filastin in 1930 may not be typical—inas­ much as few could read or write—but its publication reflected a gen­ eral concern of the time. Explaining why cultivators were selling land to Jews, the author cited the role of high taxes and tithes, which forced the small farmer to incur unmanageable debts and ultimately to sell:

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Why, in the circumstances, should you blame me and look upon me with contempt, oh ye rich man, while it would be more proper for you to disdain youself since you became a landbroker to the Jews and an evil mediator to entice me to sell my land and a usurer who sucks the blood out of me? Is the wretched fellah to blame after all this?23 The request for tax relief that follows this paragraph was neverthe­ less addressed to the government. Nothing could more clearly indi­ cate the confusion of responsibility and hence authority that was affecting the population. By the early thirties the economic and social conditions of agri­ culturists had become a major focus of concern. A study carried out by Palestinian officials in 1930 concluded that "the rural population, which forms the bulk of the indigenous population could not easily be industralized even if there were industries to absorb it. It is there­ fore essential to secure to this rural population in its present occupa­ tion at least the minimum of subsistence."24 Studies done between 1930 and 1932 all came to the conclusion that borrowing in the villages was neither a marginal phenomenon nor limited to extraordinary expenditures. The Johnson-Crosbie Re­ port found that the most common rate of interest was 30 percent per annum; despite the inability of many farmers ever to repay such loans, the moneylender was performing "a certain service to agricul­ ture" by providing credit in exchange for inadequate security. The prevailing credit system was not based purely on considerations of financial profit (although these certainly played an important role), but also on the social and political leverage to be achieved by lend­ ing. In order to maintain this position of control, creditors acted to perpetuate the dependency relationship. In many cases the money­ lender collected what he could from the threshing floor of the cultiva­ tor, leaving insufficient produce for seed or subsistence. The money­ lender sold the produce in the market while the cultivator himself was forced to borrow again.25 The farmer thus had little opportunity to acquire cash, and the cycle of debt continued. The reports made in the early thirties observed that these financial problems were em­ bedded in rural social relationships. According to the French Report of 1931, the major economic dan­ gers facing Arab proprietors were the reduction of their holdings and the transfer of land leading to their displacement. Both were natural consequences of population increase and the rise in land values, which tempted creditors to accumulate property. In the hill tracts

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French discerned two trends: in some areas, Jews were extending the agricultural development that characterized the coastal plains, at the price of displacing Arabs; in other areas, the Arab small owner was being absorbed by either an "effendi" or a capitalist overlord. In one subdistrict it was reported that 30 percent of the land has passed from Arab peasants to Arab capitalists in the preceding decade.26 The concern expressed by French and shared by British policymak­ ers included intra-Arab transactions as well as transfers from one community to the other. Effective action to protect the villagers, however, would have required a willingness to alienate both the Jew­ ish community and Arab notables without the assurance of any po­ litical return. The Arab leadership argued instead for a ban only on sales to Jews, who in turn opposed all restrictions.27 The British chose a measure with precedents in both India and Egypt: the pas­ sage of successive ordinances for the protection of cultivators.28 Until 1939 the object of land legislation in Palestine was not to halt or limit sales but only to prevent a landless proletariat from emerging. The ordinances enacted up to 1933 were largely ineffec­ tive because their provisions were loosely constructed and easily cir­ cumvented. Evicted tenants usually accepted monetary compensa­ tion and left their land, settling in another village or a town. This process of displacement did not deprive many families of an income, but it introduced an element of physical mobility that in turn deep­ ened geographical and social cleavages. In the wake of crop failures and depression, the prospect of continued sales as well as population increase led to fears of uncontrollable social forces. Thus, when Arthur G. Wauchope assumed the office of high commissioner in 1931, an immediate concern was the welfare of the rural community and in particular the tenant population. None of the legislation designed to protect cultivators had applied to small owners, nor did the comprehensive Protection of Cultiva­ tors Ordinance promulgated in 1933. It was assumed that most small owners would not sell all their land and that those who did would remain on it as tenants. As a result, there was official reluctance to extend protective legislation beyond the latter group. The re­ ported effect of the ordinance illustrates the resultant problems. The ordinance passed practically unnoticed in the hills, where tenant-landlord relations remained stable. In Jewish-owned areas, few claims were filed, probably because tenants were compensated and thereby induced to avoid legal action. The situation was very dif­ ferent in the regions where land was held by Arabs but likely to be bought by Jews. In such cases an immediate result of the new regula­ tions was the proliferation of intra-Arab disputes. Frequently, land­

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owners tried to evade tenancy claims that hampered their freedom to dispose of the land. In this fashion, the Zionist presence and Brit­ ish reluctance to limit individual activity contributed to the emer­ gence of conflicting interests within the Arab community.29 The Palestine government, as a mandatory rather than a national structure, neither could nor would undertake to manage social or economic development directly. It took its task primarily to be ar­ bitration and administration. With respect to land and the activities of the rural population, this attitude caused great bitterness among those Arabs who wanted a more directive and supportive authority. When the Palestine government decided to take steps to improve ag­ riculture, it again operated on a voluntaristic basis. The legislation discussed above had been carefully formulated to deal with immedi­ ate necessities only. Similarly, the problem of credit for cultivators was discussed at length, but in a narrow framework. Public demand for an agricultural bank had been voiced through­ out the 1920s. Such a bank had existed in Ottoman times but was liquidated for financial reasons after World War I. With the exception of occasional loans in times of acute distress, no agricultural credits were made available by the government before 1929. In that year, the Shaw Report reflected increased awareness of rural problems; and, following the report of a committee on credit-related problems, the high commissioner recommended the reestablishment of an agri­ cultural bank.30 The suggestion was rejected by the colonial secretary on both fi­ nancial and political grounds. He argued that Palestine did not have the resources to fund a government-controlled bank; that such a bank would be subject to political pressure; and that in any case most Arab agriculturists would be unable to make use of such credit facilities, since uncertain titles to land would not constitute suffi­ cient security. He suggested instead that an effort be made to orga­ nize cooperative credit societies.31 Such societies were proposed in every study of the subject.32 Ini­ tial plans made by the Palestine government in the early thirties did provide for the growth of a cooperative movement, but in conjunc­ tion with an ambitious program of land development to be financed by a British-guaranteed loan.33 The views of the British government were expressed by the colonial secretary: "As regards Arabs, what we now have in view is a scheme of land development to be undertaken by the Government, thus obviating any necessity for private long­ term credit facilities of individual Arab cultivators for the purpose of improving their land. There can be no doubt that in view of the char­ acter of the Arab cultivator and of the physical aspect of the prob­

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lems . . . advances to individual Arabs for improving each his own little patch would be sheer waste of money."34 The unanimous view of experts was that only a full commitment to improve productivity and provide aid could alter the existing demoralization among villagers. The Shaw Report articulated the political implications of maintaining the Palestine mandate with­ out decisive action to close the economic gap. Nevertheless, finan­ cial considerations precluded an undertaking as ambitious as origi­ nally planned, and the measures finally taken in Palestine were to a large extent unconnected, piecemeal endeavors. Long-term, timeconsuming projects (such as settlement, tax reform, and cooperative societies) proceeded alongside stopgap, temporary relief (such as small loans, tithe remissions, and seed loans), but no integrated plan with well-defined goals was instituted. The type of thinking that characterized government plans for v il­ lage progress is well represented by the way in which cooperative so­ cieties were introduced. The societies were expected not only to raise the villagers' standard of living but also to educate them to limit expenditure "on unnecessary objects," discourage extrava­ gance, and provide a less costly way of settling disputes.35 Clearly, there was a great deal of ambivalence about outright aid, and a ten­ dency to mix value-laden lessons with relief. Sophisticated new forms could not, however, bring radical changes into village patterns of behavior. Where such cooperatives were formed, they could nei­ ther meet the needs of villagers nor fulfill British hopes of pacifying rural life.36 The contradictions caused in part by a cautious administrative policy during a period of rapid economic change became increasingly evident in Palestine. Immigration fueled the Jewish National Home, contributing to the boom of 1 93 3 - 3 5 and posing an obvious chal­ lenge to the traditional agricultural sector. In 1932 the high commis­ sioner had suggested that government policy was aimed at ensuring the continuation of isolated communities: "Our aim, therefore, is not only to increase the amount produced by the fellah from his land, but also to lessen the quantity of foodstuffs which at present he is obligated to purchase, and to make the fellah as nearly as possible self-supporting."37 By 1935 Wauchope had to recognize that most land transfers had come to involve small plots of land sold by ownercultivators: As an example of the manner in which small holders are now beginning to be affected by the sale of lands, I learn that in the village of Qubab, in the Ramie sub-district, ninety-five owners of

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limited areas have sold between them 1036 dunams,* with the result that of these ninety-five vendors three families are already landless, sixty-four now possess under 60 dunams of land and eighteen are left with less than one hundred dunams. The ra­ pidity with which these sales are multiplying gives cause for grave anxiety for the future of small-holders and this anxiety is intensified by the recent manifestation on the part of fews to buy land in the Judean hills where Arab owners now earn a bare subsistence.38 Nevertheless, as high commissioner, Wauchope remained more in­ terested in preserving village stability than in easing the impact of rapid economic change. He believed that a further increase in the number of landless Arabs constituted "a social peril" requiring im­ mediate attention; if no steps were taken, a landless Arab class might produce "economic results which would serve as a focus for discon­ tent and might even result in serious disorders."39Plainly the British feared what they viewed as disruptive changes in the countryside. The conflict over control in the countryside had its immediate roots in the years 1929-32, when the Palestine government tried to come to grips with the political and economic impact of its policy in the countryside. The Shaw Report emphasized the vulnerability of a village population caught between the pressure of Jewish develop­ ment and unfavorable economic conditions. Its recommendations for controls over land transfer and more restricted immigration and for a study of rural conditions reflected the belief among British officials that a general reevaluation was needed. As a result experts were sent to study the situation, policy was stated then altered, minor mea­ sures—public works programs, remission of the tithe, the issuance of seed loans—were instituted, and eventually a limited program of development, including the establishment of cooperative societies, was begun.40 Yet hasty relief measures were inadequate responses to rural prob­ lems. This inadequacy is exemplified in reactions to a loan scheme proposed for the hill districts in 1935. Although there is little doubt that the villagers of this area needed assistance, the officials most directly involved questioned the value of the proposal because it did not encourage village initiative: The views of all the Rural District Officers of this District as well as my own views are that no further loans from Govern­ ment should be granted to fellaheen. So long as they can borrow from the Government the tendency to get into debt will be in-

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creased not decreased. . . . If the Government would provide the fruit trees and the wherewithal for agricultural industries the fel­ lah might be encouraged to work, but to give him or lend him money is only to ask him to spend it, and unfortunately he does not spend it wisely.41 The plan did go into effect, however, and by 1937 10,938 applica­ tions for agricultural loans to assist small Arab landowners in the hill districts had been received. The sums requested added up to P £ i ,090,508. In the high commissioner's view: "The enormous dis­ crepancy between these figures illustrates how great is the need for agricultural development in the hill country. In view of this need, the amount of P £ s 0,000 allotted for these loans appears almost derisory."42 Conclusion The difficulties faced by significant sections of the rural community were more fundamental than the proposed solutions would suggest. By the early thirties, on the one hand, the internal pressure of popu­ lation growth and land sales, combined with the attraction of a mone­ tary income, had led some villagers to look for at least temporary work in the cities.43 Although larger-scale, permanent movement to urban centers took place later, important differences appeared in these years between villages located near urban areas and those that were more isolated.44 Several factors contributed to an increasing disparity in living con­ ditions. The growth of the Muslim population in Haifa, Jerusalem, and Jaffa between 1922 and 1931 was approximately 74 percent, with a subsequent rise of 49 percent between 1931 and 1944. 45 Although some of this growth was due to natural increase, much was the result of internal migration. Similarly, a greater increase in the rural popu­ lation in the coastal subdistricts attests to the higher standard of liv­ ing as well as the economic attraction of these areas. Government policy contributed to these trends by using population as a criterion in deciding whether to invest in particular villages; schools, coopera­ tive societies, agricultural stations, and other incentives for change were undertaken in areas with the greatest population concentration. On the other hand, the villagers were subject increasingly to two external forces: government bureaucracy and the nationalist move­ ment. The programs mentioned above brought not only aid but also the expectation that villagers would alter their set patterns of life.

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87

The resultant pressure on village structure was intense, but the con­ flicting obligations of the Palestine government, as well as its colo­ nial bias, made it difficult for government officers to generate needed economic changes while maintaining social and political stability in the countryside.46 By the early thirties the separation of Jews from Arabs and of the British from both was no longer working. Ironically, the intense effect of each group on the others surfaced just as the physical and psychological distance widened. After 1929 Jews tended to move out of the older city quarters where they had been caught during the riots. The growth in immigration, which increased in the next dec­ ade, strengthened separatist inclinations. In the aftermath of physi­ cal violence Arab and Jewish nationalists worked hard to minimize interdependence. The outbreak of violence also led to British reassessment, in both London and Jerusalem. The Passfield White Paper and MacDonald's "black letter" dealt with the terms of Jewish immigration to Pal­ estine. Underlying both was concern over the spiraling implications of the Balfour Declaration. Although large-scale immigration only developed in response to deteriorating conditions for Jews in Europe, their presence in Palestine had a political and economic impact out of proportion to their numbers. Early in the mandate the Jewish Agency assumed responsibility for much of the collective life of the Yishuv. Departments were set up to organize the purchase of land, establishment of new settlements, de­ velopment of schools, etc. Some of these functions were later trans­ ferred to the Jewish national council, the Vaad Leumi} other aspects of communal life developed under the auspices of the Histadrut (General Federation of Jewish Labor) and various political parties. To­ gether the various Zionist organizations constituted an effective net­ work articulating the public interests of the Yishuv. Although the impact of this movement on Palestinian Arabs was not uniform, their reaction was almost entirely negative. Even those who gained materially from land sales and new opportunities for employment often expressed opposition to Jewish immigration. As long as this response appeared to be limited, British administrators could attempt to placate it by offering material inducements to lead­ ers of the opposition. Nationalist politicians were not taken very se­ riously, therefore, until their words seemed to reflect changes in so­ cial reality, which became visible in the early thirties with the proliferation of new Arab political parties, youth groups, and con­ gresses. The Shaw Report, followed by Simpson's, had raised the

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specter of large-scale peasant dispossession. If villagers began to mi­ grate to the cities, they might also become available to nationalist organizations. Plans for rural development came to almost nothing because of in­ sufficient funds. Yet by the early thirties the Palestine government began to take increased responsibility for Arab villagers. It was as though the doctrine of dual obligation was now being interpreted to require at least minimal British aid to lessen the gap between Arab and Jewish communal resources. In efforts to control mobility and the development of class differences, the government expanded the public sector. Representatives of the Palestine government began to play a more important role in the villages. They could not bring significant eco­ nomic relief nor could they effectively control the growth of indus­ try, the expansion of the market in land, or the development of largescale, intensive agriculture. Instead, local officials worked to protect villagers against the necessity, and perhaps the desire, to alter re­ ceived patterns of existence. The most effective means of delaying if not avoiding full cognizance of how much Palestine was changing was through control over education and internal village politics. The first fifteen years of the mandate brought decisive change into the lives of Arab villagers. Individuals could continue to live in isola­ tion, but the rural population as a whole could not escape the pres­ sures of a changing environment. The concrete problems of sur­ viving land sales, drought, and poor crops were exacerbated by a confusion as to who and what represented legitimate leadership. Villagers were accustomed to the traditional family feuds and al­ liances characteristic of the Palestinian countryside. Under the man­ date they found that these divisions took on new meaning as the Pal­ estine government established its presence. The British authorities wanted to maintain existing social divisions but to use the tradi­ tional leadership to implement their own policies. When they sought to establish new institutions and a rational legal framework, they thought of these innovations as a means to perpetuate social sta­ bility. Simultaneously, however, the developing economy fueled by intensive Jewish investment and growth created an atmosphere of uncontrolled change. Villagers began to feel that they were unpro­ tected against the entering Jewish settlers and that they were unable to take advantage of the technical advances they saw around them. Neither the Palestine government nor the Arab nationalist leader­ ship could provide the practical aid for development needed by many villagers. The impact of this situation was to create confusion and conflict­

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ing reactions. The British effort to support established families but to bring them under official control undermined traditional author­ ity more comprehensively and more rapidly than they had intended. Villagers began to desire more active and direct control over their own lives. The early thirties were marked by a growing sense of impotence. At times Palestinian villagers felt that they were caught by the con­ flict between their own interests and those of potential leaders. Yet these inevitable strains of a modernizing and semicolonized society could not be expressed because of the compelling need to remain united against the perceived threat of Jewish settlement. To cope with this situation, small numbers of villagers began to seek tech­ nical expertise of a new kind.

6. Rural Education

Educational Policy One of the most consistent subjects of Arab petition and discussion was schooling. Villagers displayed relatively little interest in local councils and new mechanisms of administration. To most, these ap­ peared to be formal changes only, which in no way disturbed pater­ nalistic patterns of control. In contrast, education was seen as vital to personal and communal interests. From national leaders to local mukhtars, Arab representatives sought the expansion of schools un­ der their own control. Government officials also viewed public education as an area of potential significance. This was manifest not in the allocation of funds—always small—but in the care with which curriculum was matched to general policy. This policy, based on respect for tradi­ tional norms, never deliberately encouraged education as a means to change either social structures or the beliefs upon which they de­ pended. Instead, the British focused attention on the achievement of literacy and other basic skills on a mass level, while trying to pre­ serve the integrative function of traditional values. Since expansion of technical expertise was viewed as problematic, the British sought stringently to regulate access to it by diffusing rather than concen­ trating educational efforts. Financial limitations meant that such diffusion effectively inhibited development. Educational policy generated considerable conflict, even though its range of application remained narrow. Trying to create a public school system in 1922, British educators had to deal with already es­ tablished limitations on their power. Foreign schools, usually of mis­ sionary origin, had established themselves before the war. The man­ date itself protected the right of each community to educate its own children. Jewish and foreign Christian groups were anxious to defend their legal prerogatives. In contrast, the British found no effective

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91

system of secular Arabic education and the bulk of the Arab popula­ tion had no access to primary schools. The initial acceptance of a tripartite educational system was further complicated by the even­ tual proliferation of private Palestinian Arab schools (national, Mus­ lim, or local) that sought to compensate for the limitations of the government system.1 From the beginning of the mandate, then, education not only func­ tioned within a volatile political context but was itself politicized by fragmentation along national, religious, and linguistic lines. The struggle for control over education and, in particular, conflicts over its substance, engaged British officials and Arab nationalists through­ out the period; there can be no doubt that both sides viewed educa­ tion not only as intrinsically valuable but also as an instrument to achieve particular political and social goals. Emotions in this area were as strong in 1920 as in 1947. The first high commissioner, Herbert Samuel, recognized their importance in a letter written on December 15, 1921. Fie stressed the need to win popular support by expanding educational facilities and outlined his priorities. Samuel referred to his plan for primary education, under which the country would be "covered with elementary schools" within four years. He noted that Muslim leaders remained discon­ tented with the inadequate provisions for higher education, and rec­ ommended a comprehensive program of secondary and technical education. According to the high commissioner, such a program would have political value only if it appeared to meet the require­ ments of the country. It was clear to Samuel that "a sham beginning" would be recognized as such.2 Christian children had had greater access to schools than Muslims prior to World War I, and this continued to be the case under the mandate. Thus the development of public schools was particularly important, not only in closing the gap between Jewish and Arab popu­ lations but equally in mitigating disparities within the Arab com­ munity itself. Samuel's awareness of educational necessities was not, however, matched by the availability of funds. Five years later the government was still educating only one-half of all potential Arab pupils, and a new high commissioner, Lord Plumer, suggested that this would not be substantially altered. He agreed with Samuel that compulsory elementary education was appropriate as an ulti­ mate aim, but he viewed it as impracticable for financial reasons. In­ stead, he suggested that education would be spread by degrees among Muslim Arabs. Since the expense for this program could not be sup­ ported by general revenues, he thought it necessary to decentralize responsibility for elementary education. By 1926 local control had

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openly come to mean financial responsibility rather than progress to­ ward autonomy.3 Plumer dealt with the question of decentralization from a finan­ cial point of view. An official in the Colonial Office noted that broader issues were at stake. He referred to India, Egypt, and West Africa as "horrid examples of the dangers of literary education turning out large numbers of unemployable clerks/7 While the high commis­ sioner expressed local concerns, the Colonial Office discussion was more direct in its assertion of British policy It pointed out that the avowed British aim in Palestine was "to get Jew and Moslem to work together and develop a common Palestinian consciousness." The more schools were left to religious communities and local authori­ ties, the more difficult it would be "to get the schools to play their part in the development of such a policy."4 It is doubtful that British officials in Palestine believed in the de­ velopment of a common consciousness; yet this Colonial Office note accurately reflects the intrinsic links between educational pol­ icy and political decisions. While administrators in the Department of Education sought to distance themselves from politics under an assumed professionalism, they continually had to define and re­ define the goals of public education. In the process they expressed a set of specifically British values; the program that emerged was based on a combination of these with factors inherent in the local situation. The Kadoorie bequest for education in Palestine, made to the Co­ lonial Office in 1922, illustrates the problems associated with "Palestinianism" as a viable educational goal. The colonial secretary de­ cided that the bequest would be used to support secondary education for both Arabs and Jews; whether they would be educated together or separately remained open to discussion until October 1924. In April 1923, the high commissioner proposed that a joint school be estab­ lished. Well aware of local suspiciousness, he wrote that both na­ tional communities were anxious to have a Palestinian educational system rooted in patriotism as well as their own culture. Arabs and Jews would therefore agree in criticizing any steps that "might be considered to lead to the Anglicisation of the country.7/5 Neverthe­ less, he proposed an institution modeled along English public school lines with appropriate modifications. This plan was supported by Humphrey Bowman, the director of education, but met stiff Jewish opposition, and by 1925 it was clear that neither Jews nor Arabs would support a joint venture. An important factor in the debate was the British tendency to make Arab-Jewish cooperation dependent upon a shared participation in English culture.6

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The ambiguity involved in the use of the term "Palestinianism" by British officials remained evident in 1929, when Bowman requested that the positions of director and assistant director in the Depart­ ment of Education be regraded. He explained the importance of their work by summarizing the difficulties of administering education in Palestine: Palestine had two educational systems, distinguished by their languages of instruction. Although he admitted that the two probably could not be united, he claimed that it was possible "to en­ visage at least in its main outlines a national Palestinian system of education. . . . " He pointed out that the two British administrative officers in the department could not share their responsibilities as fully as was usual with their Palestinian colleagues. He went on to explain why this was the case: "Such national jealousies as exist be­ tween Arabs and Jews show themselves more vividly in the educa­ tional sphere than in any other since each race regards education as the principal means by which to preserve and increase its hereditary separatism."7 There could be no more open admission that a Pales­ tinian national system meant neither a shared institutional frame­ work nor a binational community; instead it depended upon the per­ petuation of separatism, linked by and hence fully dependent upon outside arbitration. If political, structural, and linguistic obstacles prevented joint Arab-Jewish schooling, it is equally true that official sensitivity to religion did much to color the role of state education even among Arabs alone. Religious instruction remained an intrinsic part of the government school curriculum. Instructions sent by the director of education to all district inspectors of education in 1942 indicate that this policy occasionally served the interests of Christian church leaders, even where local pressure was minimal. The memorandum referred to complaints that some headmasters obstructed the atten­ dance of pupils at religious classes outside the school. It went on to stress the department's view that "religious instruction is a neces­ sary part of education for all"; pupils could be excused from such classes only if a parent or guardian demanded exemption in writing and stated that he himself did not believe or practice the religion in question.8 This emphasis on religious training had various implications. It was an important reminder of the Christian base to British power. An emphasis on religious identification in all schools also under­ scored the value ascribed to traditional beliefs, which presumably supported stability. When representatives of the Muslim Brother­ hood claimed that Islam was neglected in Palestinian schools, the di­ rector of education emphasized the extent of this commitment. He

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reminded the representatives that more time was allotted to the study of Islam in Palestinian government schools than in Egypt, and that the principal teachers in Muslim towns and villages were usu­ ally Muslim. Although sectarianism was not formally encouraged, the department clearly emphasized religious differences.9 This em­ phasis by definition undermined the concept of a national educa­ tion. This became particularly evident in the gap between govern­ ment attitudes and actions concerning private schools. General policy aimed at "the unification of various groups of schools, technically private but in fact quasi-public, into a single, flexible system with that of Government/'10 Although this aim re­ mained largely theoretical, primarily for financial reasons, private groups often requested government aid for private national schools. In response to such a request, the assistant director of education re­ plied that many of the schools were of low efficiency, affording a meager livelihood to a number of persons who had no profession but that of teacher "and whose capacity even in that profession may be very exiguous/'11 Contempt for national schools was common at the higher levels of the administration; the purposes of such institu­ tions, born out of a genuine and unanswered desire for elementary education, frequently conflicted with official policy Another, more revealing indication of the values adopted by Brit­ ish educators is contained in a letter dealing with secondary educa­ tion. In 1928 the assistant director of education, Jerome Farrell, was arguing for expansion of the Government Arab College, which was considered the only satisfactory source of male elementary school teachers. He argued against relying on nongovernment institutions: "The 'National' or private Arabic schools have a marked political bias and are badly organised and staffed. . . . It will be seen therefore that, if the special advantages in respect of character-training which are enjoyed by the better missionary schools through the efforts of their European staffs be disregarded, the GAC offers the best educa­ tion in Palestine."12 The respect for "character training" identifies an important element in British educational theory as it was applied in Palestine. The intrusion of political elements or nationalist interest in cultural particularism was especially distasteful to administrators who believed in a universally valid notion of character. They could not grasp that their definition was itself culturally determined. The political struggle over education turned on opposing views of its social function. Although Arab critics often accused the British of a conscious desire to aid Zionism by depriving Arab children of education, the evidence shows that British educational officials were quite contemptuous of the Jewish school system and fought strenu­

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ously to expand Arab opportunities. Often they used the threat of public dissatisfaction to press for an increased budget, and the politi­ cal hazards of neglecting education were regularly transmitted by the high commissioners to the Colonial Office. In 1932 Wauchope wrote to the colonial secretary of a new Arabic expression, siasat attajhil (policy of making ignorant), which summarized the Arab in­ terpretation of British policy. He claimed that a general strike in gov­ ernment schools had only narrowly been averted, and that it was necessary to spend as much as possible on elementary education for the Arab population.13 Despite such predictions and intentions, the Treasury refused to take significant steps in this direction. Five years later, Farrell sharply diagnosed the negative impact of such stringent economizing: 'The natural result of the disparity between the edu­ cational facilities offered to Arabs and Jews is to widen the cultural gap between the two races, to prevent social intermixture on equal terms and to tend to reduce the Arabs to a position of permanent in­ feriority.7/14 Later in the same year the Royal (Peel) Commission re­ port emphasized the alienating tendency of Palestine's school system and commended the private mixed schools for their attempt to over­ come nationalist divisions. In the end, the Department of Education was caught in a web of contradictions partly of its own making. The directors were caught between two sets of pressures: those from Arab leaders and intellec­ tuals, who argued for more extensive Arabization of the school sys­ tem, in both control and curriculum content as well as rapid expan­ sion; and those more subtle claims exerted by the obligations of the mandate to keep the schools outside local politics or to use them to generate Arab-Jewish cooperation. Bowman, the first director of edu­ cation, cautiously tried to move in both directions, but the tone he set was detached from the situation in which he operated. Fie him­ self felt that he had been chosen for the position because of his ''sympathy and understanding [for the Arab population, which] . . . happens to be one of my few qualifications for the job."15 Fie was in­ clined to view education as a social service to improve the Arabs; there is little evidence that he comprehended the central role of edu­ cational content as a political issue. One of the most significant outcomes of Bowman's paternalism was the choice of Jerome Farrell over George Antonius as his as­ sistant director. Farrell, who succeeded Bowman in 1936, was far more aggressive both in his political views and in his educational theories. The forcefulness with which he responded to the Royal (Peel) Commission report reflected his intense belief that the govern­ ment schools were far superior to any others in Palestine; at the

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same time, his contention that English has "far greater cultural value" than either Arabic or Hebrew reflected a bias that clearly lim­ ited his ability to communicate with Palestinians.16 The prevailing line of policy adopted by Bowman and Farrell repre­ sented an untenable compromise between educational and political factors. Both recognized the need to satisfy Arab hunger for educa­ tion; in any case, expansion accorded with their own interests. Yet, economic considerations prohibited the department from imple­ menting its plans for expansion. At the same time, the directors ig­ nored the substantive element in the debate over educational fa­ cilities. Control over schools remained fragmented and, apart from sporadic attempts to set minimal standards for all schools, govern­ ment officials concentrated on the very limited state system. Within that system, they sought to teach specific skills of universal validity; while they were exceedingly aware of religious divisions and socio­ economic stratification, the British directors tried to avoid taking any political stance.17 This apparent attempt at neutrality only exacerbated the rage of those who could not remove themselves from the Palestinian con­ flict. As a result the department that had developed an Arabic public school system in Palestine was blamed by some for depriving the Arabs of their cultural heritage while being chastised by others for an anti-Zionist bias. Khalil Totah (headmaster of the Friends' Boys' School at Ramallah), in testimony before the Royal (Peel) Commis­ sion, stressed that school children could not remain isolated from the prevailing atmosphere—that they heard their parents talking about politics, that they read newspapers. Balfour Day always meant a day's strike in the schools. He offered an interpretation commonly accepted among Palestinian Arabs: It would seem that Arab education is either designed to reconcile Arab people to this policy [of the Jewish National Home] or to make the education so colourless as to make it harmless, and not endanger the carrying out of this policy of Government. Jewish education has an aim. It is not colourless. Its aim is to establish Zionism, to establish a National Home, revive Hebrew culture. They feel Arab culture is neglected. The Arabs of Palestine feel there is no such aim behind their education.18 The predominant tendency to view everything in Palestine as di­ visible into two positions, ours and theirs, prevented Arab observers from seeing that the government school system was based not on a desire to reconcile the Arabs to Zionism, but rather on specifically

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British views of education. These views sprang from a decided bias that denied the validity of ideological movements and separated the concepts of citizenship and character from their cultural base. The British in Palestine sought to use education for specific purposes: to maintain a stable social order and to transmit what seemed to them universal values. They hoped thereby to immunize the population against the nationalist emotions that seemed threatening to their concepts of order and stability. The way in which the Department of Education went about creating an institutional structure clearly re­ flects these overriding considerations. The Effects of Educational Policy in the Village Since universal education for Muslims was never a feasible goal in Palestine, the Department of Education had to establish well-defined priorities in developing its school system. These priorities grew out of two assumptions: first, the paramount importance of increasing public literacy, and second, the dangers of expanding secondary edu­ cation too rapidly. The belief that only a few should be permitted to continue beyond elementary school accorded with the department's efforts to preserve the existing differences between rural and urban populations so as to maintain a balanced occupational structure. This theoretical aim bore little relation to the very limited measure of effective government control over popular aspirations. In fact, there was a heightened popular belief that education led to power, permit­ ting political and social mobility as well. Moreover, rapid economic change throughout the mandate created a demand for new skills, and population growth required educational institutions geared to social differentiation rather than to perpetuation of the existing order. Such contradictions between established policy assumptions and a changing socioeconomic system led to intense frustration especially among Muslim Arabs. Moreover, despite relative gains in the area of literacy, the Department of Education failed to support adequately even the limited number who were equipped for political and eco­ nomic leadership.19 Some pertinent statistics suggest the extent and type of influence exercised by formal education in Palestine.: 1. While close to 100 percent of Christian and Jewish children be­ tween the ages of five and fifteen attended school for some period of time, no more than one-third of this group in the Muslim population attended schools, even in 1944-45. 2. Among Muslim children, geographical and sexual differences were important factors in determining access to schools. Thus in

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1945-46, 85 percent of the boys and 65 percent of the girls in towns were in school, while in villages the corresponding figures were 65 percent and 10 percent. Where villages had schools, however, the proportion of applications accepted (79 percent) was far higher than in towns (49 percent); the problem thus centered on villages without schools. Of about 800 villages, 432 had schools in 1945-46, many of them incomplete in the elementary grades. 3. Within the Arab system, over one-third of the pupils attended nonpublic schools; this number was proportionately far greater for Christians than Muslims. 4. Rates of literacy consequently varied considerably among dif­ ferent sectors of the population. These variations were both class and religion based: tests conducted in 1931 showed that whereas only 25 percent of the male and about 3 percent of the female Muslim popu­ lation were literate, the proportions for Christians were 70 percent and somewhat more than 40 percent. This gap was considerably nar­ rowed among the younger generation, but it was never closed and re­ mained especially significant in the case of female education.20 It is apparent that Arab Muslim villagers on the whole were less likely to receive any education, for both geographical and religious reasons. They also tended to spend fewer years in school than other sectors of the population. This disparity had existed prior to British occupation and continued under the mandate. While the number of village schools, both public and private, did increase substantially, the government could never meet rural needs even with the help of private Arab groups. The scant resources appropriated for education by the Palestine government have been amply documented; there is little doubt that far more could have been done in this regard. Never­ theless, it is equally certain that the indirect effects of educational policy were particularly significant in determining the relationship between the population and its government. Not only expansion of education but also its quality and orientation were at issue.21 Despite the general goal of promoting literacy among Arabs, the administration made decisions calculated to maintain significant differences between rural and urban education. Unlike the urban population, villagers were required to build their own schools. The curriculum offered in rural areas was markedly different from that used in town schools. Education officials conceived the role of the village teacher in distinctly social as well as professional terms. The teacher and the village school were to be used for those improve­ ments that could be contained within existing social relationships. The structural and financial complexities of public education masked the tension inherent in government policies. The depart­

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ment intended to maintain full control over the schools while mini­ mizing the costs involved. In villages, the attempt to shift expenses was inaugurated in 1920 with a program to allow Arab villages with no educational facilities to cooperate with the government in provid­ ing elementary schools. Villages that provided an adequate building and equipment were assigned a teacher at government expense.22 By 1923 it became evident that general expenses for an effective program far exceeded available funds. The Colonial Office insisted on a reduction in the expenditure for education despite Samuel's pleas. Thus, the program to establish village schools was suddenly halted after only ninety had been opened.23 One proposal, formu­ lated by George Antonius for the Local Government Commission, would have permitted the Department of Education to draw on local funds, but it would also have allowed unofficial Arab representatives to participate in running the state school system. Jerome Farrell's criticism of this scheme is significant in light of his future role in the Department of Education. Although he admit­ ted that certain groups in the Arab community were demanding popular control over education, he denied the need to meet this de­ mand. In fact, Farrell argued, the existence of the mandate implied that the local population was immature and required "the general de­ velopment of character, sense of duty and social unity." Only the next generation, which would be formed primarily in the schools, might develop the character necessary for self-government.24 The failure of the Palestine government to adopt and apply the Local Government Commission report led, ultimately, to a system in which Farrell's opinions formed the basis for Arab education. The Education Ordinance, finally promulgated in 1933, provided for local education authorities with power primarily to implement the directives of a centralized department. First published in 1927, the ordinance aroused a great deal of opposition among both Arabs and Jews. The Jewish Agency criticized its "exaggerated direction to­ wards bureaucratic centralisation and interference with the internal management of the schools," while the Moslem Education Commit­ tee expressed disappointment that its earlier recommendations had remained unheeded. Its principal demand was that the government establish a higher council of education in which representatives of the population would participate. Since the government refused to accede to this demand, Arab leaders in turn resisted the collection of local taxes for education; hence, in urban centers much individual effort was devoted to the establishment of private schools, some of which received government aid, but no education tax was collected until the 1940s.25

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Initially the development of village education was less affected by such political tensions. Characteristically, rural schools grew, in both number and size, in response to local demand. Such initiatives resulted in either more active government involvement or the estab­ lishment of private elementary schools, many of which were later absorbed by the public system. The government permitted villagers more autonomy in this regard because they appeared to present no political threat and because they were usually required to finance their own schools. Although Bowman in particular was anxious to spread at least a minimum of modern knowledge in the villages, the policy of the department was calculated to avoid creating political and social problems. Whereas the urban Arab leadership entered the mandate with specific demands, it was hoped that the rural popula­ tion could be educated to new values. The leverage that was assumed to exist is revealed by Bowman's statement on rural education: "In Palestine, we were fortunate in beginning with a tabula rasa." 16 Nothing could have been further from the truth. An outstanding characteristic of village existence is the institutional and normative integration that permits individuals to locate and relate to particular phenomena. Within Arab societies literacy was closely associated with religious knowledge, and religious education remained a sig­ nificant vehicle for transmission of the Arabic language. The British authorities in fact constructed the foundations for a village school system by rehabilitating and absorbing the existing kuttabs (Mus­ lim schools), which had been the villagers' only source of formal knowledge. When Great Britain assumed the government of Palestine, there­ fore, it became responsible for a Muslim village population that val­ ued literacy and assigned it an important, if limited, role in the transmission of beliefs. Moreover, the growth of missionary schools and the beginning of a press in the prewar period, as well as the new Ottoman Law of Primary Education, show that Palestine, like other provinces of the Ottoman Empire, had already participated in the educational changes of the nineteenth century.27 Both the British who ran Palestine's Department of Education and the villagers themselves were concerned primarily with the utility of rural schooling. From the outset, the department proposed to es­ tablish village schools only where size would permit efficiency: con­ sequently they limited support to villages with a population of six hundred or over (later, three hundred males). In view of the fact that sixty-seven villages that fell into this category still lacked schools in 1935, the need to establish priorities is apparent. Nevertheless, the decision is a further indication of the prevailing willingness to fol­

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low rather than encourage rural initiatives. This marked hesitation to commit extensive resources to the countryside reflects outside pressures as well: on the one hand, the fear of Colonial Office offi­ cials that literary education would lead to widespread unemploy­ ment, and the financial stringency imposed by the Treasury; on the other hand, the political pressures of urban Arab leaders who re­ sented the limitation of higher education.28 The O'Donnell Commission report of 1931 provides striking evi­ dence of the distortions created in Palestine by a policy at once com­ mitted to viewing Arab society as static and to creating an entirely new nation of Palestinians. This divided commitment was particu­ larly apparent with regard to the villagers, whom British officials often regarded as a transnational social group, rather than as an inte­ gral part of a particular culture. In dealing with rural education, the commission relied heavily on unsupported assumptions. After lik­ ening the rural areas of Palestine to those of India, the report con­ cluded that much of the expenditure on education was "simply money thrown away." It pointed out that "the fellahin believe vaguely that a school is a good thing" but that such enthusiasm soon waned in light of economic circumstances that required child labor. It was therefore recommended that no new schools be opened in rural areas.29 This report was issued soon after the Shaw Commission report. C. F. Strickland and John Hope Simpson had emphasized the pre­ cariousness of the rural economy; Simpson in particular had noted the importance of education in adjusting the peasantry to a rapidly changing situation. In his response to the recommendations of the O'Donnell Commission, Bowman rejected the comparison of Pal­ estine with India. On the contrary, he argued, many of the problems he found were the consequences of an insufficient investment in rural education. He pointed out that in rural areas with large poten­ tial school populations and a genuine desire for education, schools were prevented in various ways from developing until they included enough grades to ensure permanent literacy. Bowman admitted that premature withdrawal of pupils was a problem, but noted that it was caused in part by late admissions due to lack of school places when children were of school age. He observed that the inefficiency of teachers contributed to stagnation in the schools and that unsatis­ factory buildings increased the difficulties teachers experienced, particularly in single-teacher schools. He therefore urged improve­ ment in the training of rural teachers together with an increase in village schools.30 In May 1932 the high commissioner sought to put Bowman's rec­

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ommendations for the expansion of rural education into effect, and the Colonial Office approved a limited growth plan. Five months later the director of education continued to plead for a consistent program, arguing against the O'Donnell conclusions, which were the basis of Treasury opinions. Bowman pointed out that the en­ vironment of the Arab villager favored the retention of literacy and fostered a demand for more education. He added further that the geo­ graphical position of the country, the increasing number of visitors, improved internal communications, and the presence of European Jews all impressed Arab villagers with the advantages of education and encouraged the growing demand for more schools. The urgency of this need was demonstrated by figures that showed that out of 780 Palestinian villages, only 277 had schools; of the 503 that lacked them, 67 fit the criterion of a male population over 300.31 The significance of this persistent fight over finances lies in its tendency not only to hamper the Department of Education but also to shift the burden of responsibility for schools directly onto the vil­ lagers themselves. As Bowman pointed out, the villagers did not live in a social, economic, or cultural vacuum; their aspirations were di­ rectly related to the changing tempo of Palestinian life in all its as­ pects. Nevertheless, the lack of local government institutions and dependence upon a subsistence economy made it difficult for villag­ ers to translate organizational needs into reality. Moreover, persistent internal conflicts occasionally undermined the collection of funds. During the first ten years of the mandate, these factors permitted offi­ cials to dominate the pace and form of development despite their re­ liance on local willingness to construct school buildings.32 Female Education: An Index of Social Priorities The measure of altered realities is not only concrete, however; shifts in attitudinal sensitivities also dictate institutional priorities, par­ ticularly with regard to education. Thus, village interest in schools and the opportunities they offered usually preceded their establish­ ment. In a more specific area, changing perspectives foreshadowed new directions for development: closer to the core of rural concerns and potentially of great significance was the issue of female educa­ tion with its attendant social ramifications. The central position of women in a family-based structure makes female education an important indicator of social change. At the out­ set of the mandate, on December 7, 1920, Bowman told the Advisory Council that the education of women was vitally important "for the production of the right sort of citizens—both men and women—in

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Palestine." In his opinion, the training of girls was "perhaps the most important function of education."33 Nevertheless, the education of women on a large scale posed nu­ merous problems, both practical and religious. The distinction be­ tween Muslim and Christian communities in this respect was par­ ticularly evident in 1920, since Muslim girls had received almost no schooling prior to the war. In 1919 a Women's Elementary Training College was opened to provide the necessary teachers and Muslim girls gradually formed the majority of pupils. By 1926 the popular Muslim desire for education had, in a clearly articulated fashion, be­ gun to encompass both sexes. The government's response in outlin­ ing the priorities for women corresponded to those for men: If female education is to have any direct effect upon the future of the country, girls must be brought up to understand the value of a good home where cleanliness, sanitation and above all care of children are to be regarded as the aim of every woman. . . . The excellent work already accomplished by various missionary and other bodies, local and foreign, cannot be overrated. They are the pioneers of female education in Palestine and for what they have done and are doing deserve every commendation. But the ten­ dency in the schools under their direction has been, if a word of criticism may be allowed, to cultivate too much the literary side of education, and to neglect almost entirely what may be termed the domestic side.34 Helen Ridler, principal of the Womens' Training College and inspec­ tor of girls' schools in Palestine, stressed the importance of teaching handiwork of all kinds to future women teachers, who would have "to teach girls who lead a life of seclusion and have long hours of leisure."35 Such a description, however, could refer only to the town population, since village women did not suffer from an abundance of leisure. One may infer—as the statistics show—that female educa­ tion was largely an urban phenomenon. Throughout the country, girls represented a small minority of the total number of pupils in government schools; in 1930 they num­ bered only 20 percent of the total. Muslim girls were at a much greater disadvantage than Christian, partly as a result of social resis­ tance as shown by the disparity between urban and rural sectors. Other factors, however, were also important. Despite official recog­ nition of its social significance, female education could not take pre­ cedence over that of boys, and limited expenditure made progress difficult. Furthermore, the training of women teachers proceeded

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slowly, and a government regulation requiring women to resign when they got married led to a high rate of turnover.36 Thus, by July 1934 there were only ten government girls' schools in the villages of Palestine. The political pressures that created plans if not resources for urban expansion were not as visible in the coun­ tryside; a serious campaign for female education in the villages could only be part of a more general undertaking. Nevertheless, larger vil­ lages were manifesting concern on the subject. In 1934-35 the num­ ber of village girls' schools was increased to fourteen, and in 1935 a small start toward training rural teachers was made with the estab­ lishment of a Rural Women's Teachers Training Center in Ramallah.37 The purpose behind this institution, as outlined by the high com­ missioner, coincided with the general objective of using teachers to effect a wide range of practical improvements in the villages. He in­ formed the colonial secretary that he was considering a "scheme to improve conditions in Arab villages by spreading a knowledge of do­ mestic science among women and girls." He believed that progress in the villages depended upon taking steps to ameliorate domestic con­ ditions and that schools were the best vehicle for such initiatives.38 Two principles characterized the center: a student body drawn solely from the rural population, and a curriculum designed to train girls in health care as well as household necessities. Academic learning was kept to a bare minimum. The Center opened with twelve Muslim students; by 1946 it housed thirty-four girls who attended a three-year course (with thir­ teen graduates in 1945-46). Compared to the need, however, the re­ sults were meager. A dispatch from the high commissioner in 1935 explains some of the constraints under which rural female education labored. His analysis of popular demand for education is particularly interesting. In towns he found the demand for education of boys spontaneous and very insistent, for education of girls somewhat less but still strong. In villages the situation was as follows: (iii) The demand for rural boys' education is not quite so in­ sistent, but it is growing in intensity year by year. (iv) The demand for female education in villages is less clamant [sic] and less general. But the absence of de­ mand is probably more apparent than real, and is largely attributable to recognition of the fact that in present cir­ cumstances it would be futile to voice the demand. In several villages however there is undoubted anxiety for an extension of female education.39

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The futility of requests for girls' schools is evident in a memo by the Director of Education on the expansion of rural education. In it he explicitly states that it is not practicable to expand female education in villages.40 The pattern of changed expectations, originating in urban centers and expanding to villages, thus is evident in this case also. In Pal­ estine the process was intensified by the close proximity of many villages to small towns, and at the same time held back by a govern­ ment policy that could afford little flexibility or nuance in respond­ ing to social change. This was particularly true for women's edu­ cation, which involved religious divisions as well as traditional relationships. The disparity between Muslim and Christian commu­ nities is well illustrated by the case of Bethlehem. In 1927 the De­ partment of Education agreed to support the creation of a girls' school in Bethlehem in response to Muslim requests, but for the moment no Muslim woman teacher was available. A pessimistic appraisal of the situation was expressed to the assistant chief secretary in July 1928. Bowman pointed out that the Muslim community in Bethle­ hem was comparatively small and unlikely to send more than twenty girls to school, while the Christian community sent its children to an orthodox school because the girls could not yet receive a com­ plete education in the government school.41 As a result, the situation remained static. Although forty Muslim girls had registered in 1927, attendance did not exceed twenty. The Christian community still wanted to transfer their daughters to the government school, but only when additional teachers were provided. The policy of the de­ partment, however, was to provide only one teacher until enrollment justified more. Beit Jala Girls' School, in a much smaller village with a Christian population and no private school, thus had four teachers to Bethlehem's one. The anomaly was noted but the rule remained in operation.42 This instance reflects the variability of Muslim demand for female education as well as the more consistent attitude of the Christian community. It illustrates, too, the frustrating cycle of ambiguous popular initiatives, which led to government suspicion or caution,those who supported new developments were caught in the middle. Where there was strong demand for girls' schools, the outcome was nonetheless often negative; in villages, where such pressure could rarely be mobilized, the issue arose only sporadically.43 The problems faced by administrators in creating a network of girls' schools were summarized by the high commissioner in 1935* He pointed out that at the beginning of the mandate there were few

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literate women who could be employed as teachers. Since many were Christian, they could not find acceptance in Muslim cities. Only gradually did Muslim parents consent to send their daughters to the teachers' training college.44Yet female education was a focal issue in Palestine, precisely because it was problematic for both the Arab community and the Palestine government. Despite traditional con­ straints on the role of Muslim women, political pressures as well as intense exposure to modern social relationships encouraged urban women to act outside the home and educate their daughters. Coopera­ tion between Muslims and Christians in the nationalist movement undoubtedly helped stimulate interest in the public arena, since Christian women were substantially freer in this regard.45 This limited activism and the visible desire for girls' schools should not, however, obscure the fact that the real options available to women remained tied to the family, not to broader social roles, and that among villagers these options could not be altered without challenging the foundations of belief as well as habit. A few indepen­ dent educators saw the need for such change, as did the British. Khalil Totah, testifying before the Royal (Peel) Commission, main­ tained that there was no hope for the "advancement" of the Arab in Palestine if the government neglected the girls in villages. The vil­ lagers constituted 75 percent of the Palestinian Arab population, yet only fourteen villages had girls' schools. To the argument that it was impossible to find women teachers, he responded that this could be changed by spending money on teacher training.46 Lack of funds was a standard government plea in defense of its ac­ tion—more often inaction—but it does not explain priorities for ex­ penditures. The British approach to rural education was highly prac­ tical, and aimed largely at achieving limited technical results. Girls' schools could have performed a vital function in elevating the con­ ditions of family life and health in the villages. That this did not happen is a further indication of the extreme tentativeness with which British officials handled any area of possible religious or so­ cial significance. Muslim Arab women in Palestine therefore had no access to ad­ vanced education through the government system, while custom prevented them from entering the labor force in large numbers. In the countryside, however, they were a very significant factor in the family equation, even when passive. Their changing aspirations, moreover, directly reflected dominant cultural values. This process of reactive change is apparent in two separate assessments of rural marriage patterns. In 1935 the high commissioner wrote: "As yet rural education of boys in Palestine provides for mere literacy and

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manual skill. The marriage between a merely literate 'handy-man7 and an illiterate girl is not therefore a misalliance such as is said to be the result of comparable unions in India/747 Eleven years later, however, the district inspector of education in Samaria perceived impending problems,- only nine large villages out of twenty-nine in the district had girls7schools: The villagers and not the Education Department are to be blamed, because they do not have the inclination to educate their girls. If this disinclination continues, a bad social condition may prevail. First of all we will have a backward state of health in the village. Besides, the educated boys will not agree to marrying ig­ norant and illiterate girls of the village. . . . We find that almost all village girls are illiterate, and some instances are known when educated villagers have divorced their wives whom they married early.48 Although the district inspector emphasized village responsibility for this negligence, he wrote to request aid from district officials in en­ couraging an increase in schools for women. The government, however, did not see its role as an active one. In education, too, the British controlled through passivity and limited intervention, supporting changes that accorded with their preferred social goals and deferring those that did not. In the villages, women's education remained subject to such "benign neglect77 because the political forces behind it were not yet sufficiently strong. In 1938 the director of education still felt that the demand for education for girls in Muslim villages was relatively small, and even this was difficult to supply with teachers.49 As a result, the desire for female education could be satisfied only minimally, even by the combined forces of private and public institu­ tions. Although the Palestine government had expressed an interest in the subject throughout the mandate, its policy reflected a fear of the social implications of advocating changes in the status of women as well as a reluctance to make the investment necessary to train and keep teachers. Above all, religion and the existing societal balance were to remain intact. The centrality of women to the village code of honor and the entire kinship structure on which it rested finally pre­ cluded any meaningful development of female education.50 The negative character of government policy in this area was merely an extension of the more general assumptions governing the relationship between villagers and the Department of Education. At one level, it is apparent that most of the village population were

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more willing to support schools than any other service and that this involvement grew, with demands for more advanced classes arising after the completion of lower elementary grades. Although priority was given to the education of boys, demands for girls' schools in­ creased. The ambitions of those who attended (and most probably of their parents) centered on the status gain achieved through school­ ing; economic factors were related to this desire for social mobility and expressed themselves in the hope of gaining government em­ ployment. At another level, government activity in education was di­ rected toward ensuring the viability of village economies so as to maintain the stability of village societies. Ironically, villagers seem to have assumed that they could absorb significant educational ex­ pansion and consequent interchange with nonvillage sectors with­ out losing their social or normative cohesion; British policy makers, however, believed that it was necessary to alter villagers' economic attitudes in order to ensure continuity and that it was possible to do so without making a major commitment to changing family pat­ terns. Thus, the government wished to change attitudes without touching reality, while the villager hoped to better reality without giving up values. Predictably, the two groups continued to operate within separate frames of reference, and the impact of rural schools on internal social structure became largely subject to the total en­ vironment within which they operated. Growing Disparities: Schools and the Village Economy When the Palestine government assumed responsibility for Arab edu­ cation, it seemed free to develop a new system in accordance with the views of its officials. No established bureaucracy obstructed govern­ ment initiatives and the nationalist movement, while vocal, was relatively contained. Over the years it became clear that changes in Arab society and economy proceeded more rapidly than the develop­ ment of popular skill in absorbing unfamiliar concepts and tech­ niques. In this context, British control over education came to seem particularly manipulative, designed to deprive the Arab community of the intellectual tools it required to control the process of change. The struggle for dominance in the educational field thus had signifi­ cant implications as well for the growth of a national economy and a nationalist movement. In a rural environment, the impact of education upon economic structure depends in the first instance on the degree to which agri­ cultural technology is affected. The Palestine Department of Educa­ tion encouraged an agricultural bias in village education almost

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from its inception. Bowman made the attainment of literacy his first priority, but he expected village schools to meet broader needs: "at once [to] enlighten the peasant, make him a contented citizen and keep him on the land." Migration from the country to towns was as dangerous in Palestine as in England; agitators were to be found only among the discontented. Bowman's prescription was to "do away with the cause for discontent, make your peasant happy and pros­ perous." A plan for village welfare, radiating from schools, could rapidly and radically change conditions in the countryside. He pre­ dicted that "improved cultivation will increase prosperity; malaria and eye disease will diminish; infant mortality will decrease; se­ rious crime will wane; the burden of debt will vanish. In a single generation much can be achieved."51 Although this vision never ma­ terialized, efforts were made to attain such stability and, in particu­ lar, to discourage migration by manipulating personal aspirations. In accordance with this policy, the development of village educa­ tion was limited both in numbers and in substance. The rural curricu­ lum, unlike that in urban elementary schools, emphasized practical agricultural work, and before 1935 only rarely included English teaching. In 1935 the director of education arranged to increase the number of schools teaching English. In transmitting this informa­ tion, the high commissioner was careful to reassure the colonial sec­ retary that the process would not encourage indiscriminate migra­ tion, that teaching English under strict limitations might in fact allow more careful regulation of migration.52 To maintain the policy of discouraging literary education, the standard course for fellahin boys was only four years; this was considered enough to assure basic skills. Frequently, several or all classes were taught by one teacher in a single classroom. Agricultural training remained very limited. The basic scheme, in­ augurated by the department in 1927, focused on the development of school gardens, which were provided free of charge by the villagers. Only one-third to one-half of village schools ever maintained such gardens, however, and less than half of these were supervised by ap­ propriate teachers. The lack of adequate training was the subject of a memorandum submitted by officers of the Village Congress to the high commissioner in November 1929. The representatives noted that village schools were very scarce and that "the nature of educa­ tion does not suit the farmer's interest." They asked for compulsory education for males and females in the villages, as well as for finan­ cial aid to the national schools. The memorandum stressed that schools, however elementary they were, should teach agriculture and industry.53

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Despite some attempts at cooperation with the Department of Ag­ riculture, the Department of Education was not in a position to exer­ cise control over rural development. The Kadoorie School of Agricul­ ture at Tulkarm, the sole source of trained village teachers, was administered by the Department of Agriculture until 1944. This school, which could accommodate seventy students a year, produced approximately fifteen teachers annually (until military occupation of the school between 1936 and 1945). Most of its other students pre­ ferred to enter government service rather than return to farming. This was in direct opposition to the purposes for which this school had been established, which were outlined in a letter sent by the principal to prospective applicants. He made it clear that the pri­ mary objective of the school was "to train students in agriculture to enable them to improve their own lands, or those of their families." The letter stated that students were not to expect government em­ ployment upon graduation.54 Arab students received agricultural training at two widely sepa­ rated levels: practical experience at the elementary level and special­ ized education for a small number of experts. In addition, a select group of village teachers participated in a one-year course instituted in 1932. The defects in this system were already apparent in 1935, when a group of notables from Gaza petitioned the director of agri­ culture for government aid to a new agricultural school that they hoped to establish. They argued that Palestine urgently needed an agricultural school that would combine practical training with agri­ cultural experience. They had concluded that the Kadoorie Agri­ cultural School and the Miqveh Yisrael Agricultural School were un­ able to meet the country's requirements for practical training and laboratories at the advanced level.55 The director of education and the director of agriculture both dis­ agreed with this assessment. The director of education felt that one secondary school was sufficient to provide scientific and practical training for "sons of larger land-owners, junior employees of the Ag­ ricultural Department . . . and teachers in general schools with an agricultural bias." In the most recent selection process, he main­ tained, the number of applicants "from a suitable home environ­ ment" with the necessary general educational qualifications barely equalled the number of vacancies at the Kadoorie School. Instead of expanding secondary schools, he suggested the establishment of lower vocational schools that would serve the smaller farmers and "should be severely practical."56 The issue here was not financial but philosophical. While Arab leaders pressed for greater opportunity in higher education, Farrell

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expressed an unmistakable fear of what he viewed as mass higher education. In response to popular pressure for secondary classes in small towns or villages, he replied that the maximum number ca­ pable of high academic achievement was very small: "This maxi­ mum is fixed by nature; it can be reached but cannot be increased by education."57 In theory, the department favored an increase in opportunities for post-elementary vocational rather than academic training. The his­ tory of efforts in this area, however, is similar to that for agricultural education, while the damage was probably even more severe. In deal­ ing with agriculture, the Department of Education worked to im­ prove techniques within an existing system of landholding and to counteract pressures for urbanization. A lack of trained teachers combined with economic factors to make success in these terms dif­ ficult to achieve. In the case of technical education, educators were oriented even more blatantly toward the past rather than the future. By 1929 this attitude portended long-term dangers. In that year, the high commissioner requested approval to appoint W. A. Stewart to the Department of Education as supervisor for technical education. Although fully aware of the need to relate schoolwork to actual in­ dustrial needs, the high commissioner emphasized the importance of reviving traditional crafts and small industries rather than encour­ aging modern expertise. His criteria for the post underline its tra­ ditionalist orientation: "The person selected should not only have an intimate acquaintance with the leading crafts of the Near and Middle East, but he must have sympathy with the Oriental character and a taste for Oriental craftsmanship. He must be ready to inspire reverence for all that is best in Eastern arts and crafts and to instill a desire to attain once more a level of taste and workmanship such as the thirteenth century Arab world gave to Europe."58 Stewart, who expressed strong appreciation of local color and a distaste for indus­ trial machinery, held the post until 1946; most of his efforts were directed at encouraging native industries. The short-sightedness of this approach is shown by the response of students in a school weav­ ing section. In a meeting held by the district officer in Bethlehem on July 22, 1935, the principal of the school spoke of students7 disillu­ sionment when they learned that they would have no opportunities for opening new industries once they graduated. As a result, they often left work and the weaving sections.59 The need for teachers of manual work and for technically equipped workers led to two other initiatives in the early thirties. The plan to construct a trade school in Haifa originated in 1933; but the school was occupied by the military shortly after being completed in 1935,

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and did not become available to students until 1945. Correspondence concerning this project shows what the government hoped to achieve. The high commissioner stressed that the chief needs of Palestinian youth were "the building up of character and the provision of oppor­ tunities for technical education." A school where students could live together under a headmaster and their instructors would have an excellent influence on these young men.60 A second project, aimed at providing advanced technical training abroad, was more specific and accorded well with the general British fear of overeducation. In 1932 the report of a committee on technical scholarships abroad enumerated the "racial and professional" dis­ abilities of Palestinians wishing to rise in government service. Never­ theless, the committee saw a need for a small number of trained officers and recommended that a highly controlled program be insti­ tuted. The report makes it clear that the system of scholarships was not designed to increase the general level of technical competence, but to provide a very limited number of trained government officers. Since the field of selection was likely to be "either very limited or entirely nonexistent in any one year" the authors recommended that no specific number of scholarships be provided.61 As a result, very few Palestinians ever received a higher technical education at gov­ ernment expense. Villagers who wanted education for their children (male or fe­ male), young people who wanted technical training, small owners who wanted assistance to utilize their land more effectively—all found themselves increasingly dependent on the Palestine govern­ ment. Their needs could be met only by the public authorities, but this fact in itself posed substantial problems, and not only because of a prior dislike for government intrusion. The development of ac­ tive public interest in the acquisition of modern knowledge and skills had obvious social and political ramifications. As Palestinian Arabs became more cognizant of their own needs, they found it in­ creasingly difficult to accept foreign control over the response to their requests for aid. The growing strain was exacerbated by British efforts to impose limits on personal ambitions. Thus, the school-age population felt itself trapped between the desire to use official insti­ tutions for personal growth and the need to be free of alien restriction. Government Organization of Youth The generation of young Arabs who were—or should have been— educated under the mandate received a very confused set of instruc­ tions for life. They were faced with a proliferation of institutions as

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well as organizations and an increasing loss of criteria by which to determine their legitimacy. The accord between themselves and the social environment began, for many, to show strain; an unques­ tioned identity became, for a few, the source of doubt and anger rather than strength. Schools did little to resolve this tension; public education, in particular, was not equipped to deal directly with cultural concerns. A standing argument between Arab leaders and the Palestine Depart­ ment of Education focused on the former's contention that Arab his­ tory was seriously neglected in public schools. Indirect support for their position may be found in the department's annual report for 1927: "The study of Arabic is greatly hampered in the elementary schools by a complete lack of children's literature. . . . The ele­ mentary history books available in Arabic are all jejune summaries. In secondary classes, an Arabic adaptation of Breasted's 'Ancient Times' is used by pupils, but Arabic reference books are few and unsatisfactory."62 The deficiency continued to exist in 1935. That it was directly re­ lated to political concerns is evident in the high commissioner's re­ sponse to questions posed by a member of Parliament: "It is unfortu­ nately the fact that no history books in Arabic suitable for pupils in Palestinian schools at present exist, but I should like to assure you that this deficiency is not necessarily an encouragement to undesir­ able propaganda by teachers; the syllabus of history, as for all other subjects, is clearly laid down by the Department, and not to be al­ tered by the teacher, whose notes of lessons are always available to the Head of his school and to Inspectors."63 The difficulty in acquir­ ing suitable textbooks, while real, was certainly exaggerated. More to the point is the question of what the government substituted for an adequate national education, which, by definition, they could not provide. It is convenient to approach this question indirectly, by examining a significant extracurricular activity. The history of the boy scouts in Palestine—despite their technically unofficial status—is con­ nected intrinsically to public education. As an organization seri­ ously supported by British educators, scouting represented the gen­ eral values that the government hoped to instill in Arab youth. The development of scout troops also offers, however, a clear picture of the process by which British educators lost control over organiza­ tions they had helped to create; in this respect the scouts illustrate, in microcosm, some of the problems attendant to the creation of for­ mal institutions by a foreign power. Palestinian Arab youth under­ stood the value of scout organization as structure, but genuine mean­

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ing could only be achieved through substituting their own bases for group identity.64 The Baden-Powell scout movement, an international organization, was introduced to Arab boys through the public school system. Both high commissioners and the director of education held official posi­ tions in the movement before 1936; Bowman's pride in his role as county commissioner is evident in his diary: "I have passed my Scout test, in theory and they have made me Scout 'Camp Chief' for Palestine—a very signal honour . . . of course I am not in the least worthy of it, but I could hardly refuse—and it is a compliment to Palestine."65 Some time later he described his experience conducting a training camp for scouts, all of whom were Arab government school teachers. The ambiguous description of his attempt to transcend na­ tional differences reveals the awkwardness involved: "I told them that in Camp, I was no longer Mudir al Maarif, but just their elder brother and Scoutmaster and they treated me thus—without the slightest loss of dignity and always with respect."66 Under Bowman's direction, boy scout troops were formed under the supervision of government teachers trained as leaders. The im­ portance attached to village troops by the director accorded with his general view of rural life: It has been suggested that Scout Troops in villages might assist a great deal in the campaign of hygiene, cleanliness and general improvement which is being conducted. . . . There are many ways in which an efficient Scout Troop can set an example not only to the other boys in the village but also to the inhabitants of the village. . . . I am anxious to emphasize the great importance I attach to scout usefulness generally. . . . It is to the rising genera­ tion that we must make our appeal and through them to the adult generation.67 It was an attractive idea, but it assumed that utility could operate in a vacuum, apart from a system of belief. In reality, however, disorder in the latter required resolution in order to provide a framework for the former. As early as 1924 a report from Jerusalem indicated that boy scouts from a national school acted politically as a group. Somewhat later, an administrative officer felt that "one of the main causes of the riots in 1929 was the subversive propaganda of a number of Gov­ ernment school teachers and Scouts." By 1933 the development of active independent youth groups and of other scout organizations showed that the Baden-Powell troops would suffer from competition

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with or absorption into politically minded groups. In Safad, for ex­ ample, a group applied for registration as a boy scout troop, but the police report revealed dubious aspects of their activities: "I have come to the conclusion that the Scout Groups in Safad are under the influence of the extreme Arab Nationalist Leaders.. . . The members are not boys but grown men of the labouring and tradesmen class (most of them illiterate) and their parades and meetings are more of an organized display of force than a beneficial organization for the betterment of growing boys."68 Bowman's departure precipitated an open recognition of this change, which was denounced by his temporary successor as coun­ try scout commissioner: "In my opinion this is no country for any youth movement which includes the wearing of uniform and a re­ semblance however remote to military formations. Even in England the movement is not free from jingoism; in this country it is a focus for nationalism and so far from drawing the two races together it is being used to accentuate racial differences."69 By the late thirties there was general agreement among officials that scout troops had become predominantly subversive in orientation and that despite the theoretical usefulness of Baden-Powell groups, scouting had be­ come a dangerous phenomenon.70 The organization of youth was an important aspect of many politi­ cal movements in these years, and in this respect Palestine was no different from many other countries. In Palestine, however, the scouts reflected two processes specific to the Arab community and its rela­ tionship to the mandatory government. First, the development among youth of a new organizational political base with national character­ istics was part of an evolving social tendency to form societies and clubs as voluntary forms of association. Second, the history of scout­ ing indicated the limits of government control over educational in­ stitutions and their student bodies. According to the Criminal Inves­ tigation Division in 1938: "In brief the Boy Scout Movement in Palestine has suffered from a lack of effective control and apart from the few Troops of Scouts of the Baden-Powell Boy Scout Organiza­ tion, the movement has become almost entirely political. As a result the whole movement, including the Baden-Powell Group, has been discredited."71 The educational efforts of the British suffered in many ways be­ cause of their unwillingness to recognize the political implications of state control over schools. Bowman, in particular, feared the power of outside forces to infect educational institutions: "Once this virus of politics entered the schools of Palestine I knew we were doomed, and from the first I resolutely set my face against allowing the De­

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partment to be affected by politics, in so far as this was humanly possible."72 This tendency to view professional roles as ideologically neutral, however, had developed in an industrialized society, and its effectiveness depended upon an acknowledged consensus of expecta­ tions. Such a foundation was lacking among the Palestinian popula­ tion, which was in the process of defining new criteria for delimiting the boundaries of society and for creating a basis for legitimate po­ litical authority. Education played a central role in this process, by helping to determine social mobility and, particularly in rural areas, by threatening the final authority of religion and family. At the same time, higher education made possible potentially new conceptuali­ zations and thought patterns. The year 1936 marked a threshold in the willingness of some young Palestinians to accept given interpretations of political reality. Stu­ dent strikes followed by the military occupation of many schools not only disrupted education but also gave Palestinian youth an op­ portunity for activism that was foreign to their normal role in society. School strikes occurred sporadically before 1936, but by 19 36 -37 few government schools could function. Attempts to keep children in school were further impeded by the forced closing of institutions and by the military occupation of schools that had provided teach­ ers. A temporary halt to all educational progress resulted and, after the initially popular strikes, the Arab community expressed distress that even more children were now deprived of the routine of daily attendance.73 As the two paternalistic systems struggled for control, each hoped to attract the new generation, thus giving it a measure of leverage unavailable earlier. The expansion of communications and occu­ pational mobility that drew villagers into a larger social network affected the youth in particular. A growing number of village boys pursuing a secondary education in towns began to participate in na­ tional political concerns. Changes that began to emerge in the early thirties and gained in intensity throughout the decade shed light on the way in which new patterns of behavior are transformed from re­ sponsive acts to internalized processes. The separate forces that cre­ ated this transition represented different elements in Arab society: the civil service, political or intellectual leaders, and the rural popu­ lation. Each grappled with its response to foreign control, and in the process education slowly acquired new meaning. As the initial group of village teachers established themselves and as nationalist feel­ ings found expression through the growing press, villagers acquired greater sensitivity to their newly articulated difficulties. They began to act more regularly on the perception that schools had important

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social and political value and that economic deprivation was some­ how connected with access to education. Although this awareness originated in urban centers, it spread to the surrounding countryside. The confrontation between the government and the rural Arab population took form gradually and often without recognition. Its articulation came in the mounting pressure to resist a policy that of­ fered new institutions to bolster existing interests and to turn those institutions into instruments for assimilating a new situation to ex­ isting values. By 1936 Palestinian Arabs knew that their lives had changed irrevocably,- their rage at British failure to recognize this fact now became impossible to deny. The British administration clearly feared the implications of ex­ tending education into the Palestinian Arab countryside. The com­ mitment to preservation of a somewhat idealized native culture only reinforced a more general resistance to furnishing villagers with the means to challenge the mandatory and its policies. The belief pre­ vailed in the upper echelons of the Department of Education that it was possible and desirable to protect villagers from the contamina­ tion of urban politics. Although official distinctions between urban and rural needs had some validity, the belief that villagers could re­ main largely unaffected by Palestine-wide developments betrayed a lack of responsiveness to the specific requirements of a changing agricultural sector. While Palestinian schools did not create a popular interest in poli­ tics or change, they were viewed by both Arabs and British officials as a means to control the emergence of articulate social conscious­ ness. Without literacy and historical awareness on the part of a lead­ ership, the impulse to act is rarely disciplined enough to be effective. This was the problem that prevailed in the Palestinian countryside. Arab villagers were becoming aware of the need to change in specific ways to survive. Whether individuals wished to adjust or not, the population was making efforts to protect itself. The demands for tech­ nical education, the anxiety about literacy, the eagerness to enter gov­ ernment service, and even the ambivalence with regard to girls' schools were all symptomatic of altered goals. They reflected recogni­ tion of the way in which villagers were becoming part of a larger po­ litical and economic network. Yet this recognition was expressed in actions and partial demands rather than ideological programs. While villagers supported the general cause of nationalism, they were also and more immediately affected by the economic and social stress of changing patterns of landholding, government, and social services. They did not question their participation in a larger religious-national community, but they were becoming divided over

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the advantages promised, if not always delivered, by specific state in­ stitutions. Villagers found themselves growing more dependent on the Palestine government while they were less effective in commu­ nicating their needs to officials. The deliberate effort to orient edu­ cation to the status quo thus thwarted the effective expression of rural expectations and needs.

7. The Arab Revolt

Introduction In 1936 Palestinian Arabs began a three-year-long struggle to change British policies and freeze, if not eliminate, the Jewish settlement. Throughout much of the next three years, Arab militants mounted attacks on Jews and on British forces in hopes of gaining a decisive voice in plans for the future. Yet the united attacks on outsiders could not heal the deep rifts that had already developed within the Arab community, and these divisions finally made it easier for the British to reestablish their authority. Ironically, the revolt, which itself became a formative event in the development of Palestinian Arab nationalism, in the end strengthened Palestinian Jewish au­ tonomy and rendered Palestinian Arabs more vulnerable to external influence.1 The revolt was an effort to change others and to force the British as well as Jews to recognize the strength of Arab opposition to the Jew­ ish National Home policy. While it succeeded in making this opposi­ tion undeniable, it could not succeed in weakening British and Jew­ ish forces. Recognition did not constitute agreement, and finally the revolt transformed the Arab community far more than it altered those who were antagonistic to its aims.2 The revolt showed that economic and political divisions that had emerged under the mandate were becoming permanent. Tension and violence had never been uncommon in the villages of Palestine, but conflict over land or family had historically been contained by estab­ lished custom. The events of 1936-39 showed that neither tradi­ tional authority nor customary prescription could control commu­ nal differences any longer. Although family feuds continued to play an important role in undermining Arab unity, they now formed only one element in an increasingly complex social structure. As a result, none of the traditional means for limiting intracommunal strife

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were sufficiently effective. Family feuds could have been mediated in the past. Now they proved to be more dangerous, because they were linked with social, political, and economic divisions that grew out of conditions specific to the mandate. The revolt was much more than a nationalist rebellion against for­ eign control. It was equally the product of deep conflicts that had developed within the Palestinian Arab community and now emerged in struggles among Arabs themselves. The revolt was multidimen­ sional because it was the product of a society striving for an inner sense of cohesion at the same time that it was expressing a uniform anger at outsiders. While urban leaders spoke of nationalism, many villagers acted out of a concrete sense of deprivation. Although vil­ lage life generated fatalism with regard to the biological and political worlds, compensation had previously been found in the creation of an autonomous sphere based on family as well as customary rights to land. As this sphere became vulnerable to the market and thus to political manipulation, villagers had to make decisions whose longrange implications remained obscure. While some sold their land for cash or succeeded in finding new occupations (skilled and unskilled), others were marginalized and disconnected. The emergence of rural class division was not a stage that followed neatly from a transcen­ dence of earlier cleavages. It added to existing fragmentation without providing an immediate new basis for social interactions. By 1936, therefore, the Arab community had already been perma­ nently affected by British and Jewish actions in Palestine. Some wished to eradicate these effects. Others hoped to assimilate these changes and make them less destructive to the fabric of communal life. The thirties, far from being a period of respite, however, were a decade marked by intense uncertainty for all those living in or re­ sponsible for Palestine. The British government, concerned with the fascist threat in Europe, wanted to ensure its position in the Middle East. Simultaneously, heightened Jewish immigration, also caused by the Nazi victory in Germany, reinforced Arab hostility to the mandatory authority. International polarization was accompanied by active resistance to British and French control throughout the Middle East. When the Arab revolt erupted in 1936, it drew its strength from the temporary coincidence of favorable local, regional, and international conditions. It looked as though social divisions and political conflicts could both be resolved through the act of resistance.

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1936-39: The Meaning of Violence The early stages of the strike in the spring and summer of 1936 rep­ resented the height of unity achieved by Palestinian Arabs. New political organizations on the one hand and increased religious mili­ tancy on the other worked effectively to create the excitement of di­ rect activism in both urban and rural areas. When action was taken, the network of oral communication that bound villages with each other and with towns quickened a latent sense of common destiny.3 Beginning in the spring of 1936, villagers also played a significant role in maintaining the momentum of resistance.4 They furnished most of the manpower for guerrilla bands in the countryside and pro­ vided refuge for militants, particularly in the less accessible hill areas. In some instances, villagers were coerced into sustaining the rebels; in others they were sympathetic. The bands operated under regional leadership and acted at their own pace. Whether or not they were liked, they became strong enough to command respect through­ out much of the country by August 1936. The revolt in the countryside ceased temporarily while the Royal (Peel) Commission heard evidence on the situation in Palestine. After the commission issued its report recommending partition, however, the armed bands resumed operation. As the resistance in­ tensified in late 1937 and 1938, another level of struggle became ap­ parent. Not only did urban nationalists and rural bands seek to change British policy; they also sought control over one another in a struggle to establish internal authority. Characteristically, actions designed to defeat outsiders also tended at first to galvanize unity. The desire both to maintain and to control this unity then brought different Arab groups into conflict, for the two goals were often at odds. The assertion of will against imperial power therefore gradually lost its single-mindedness and permitted the emergence of a simul­ taneous battle to determine the nature of Palestinian Arab relation­ ships within the country as well as with outsiders. As the Palestine government gradually reestablished its military superiority and, in 1937 deported or otherwise excluded the nationalist leadership, this second battle gathered strength from the frustration caused by impotence. Although no effective political movement emerged at this point, the impact of rural resistance on village society was substantial. The revolt gave shape to earlier experiences under the mandate by sharp­ ening divisions within the Arab community. The activities of the rebels, at first directed against British and Jewish targets only, were

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increasingly turned against that sector of Arab society that exercised its power in conjunction with the Palestine administration and against notables whose nationalism did not include support for so­ cial upheaval. This violent demand for active loyalty challenged the modus vivendi evolved by traditional leaders and forced Arab offi­ cials to make explicit their commitment to holding their positions despite their alienation from the Palestine administration. As the strengths of various commitments were thus put to the test, fatigue and disillusionment emerged, as well as loss of trust in previous sources of social integration. Four lines of division—family, religious, generational, and class— fed the violence of intracommunal factionalism. Most reports tend to stress the family and religious antagonisms that continued to in­ fuse political behavior. An Englishwoman who taught in the Arab national school of Bir Zeit (a predominantly Christian village) from the summer of 1938 to that of 1939 recorded her impressions in a diary. When she first arrived, the village was in rebel hands, and she believed that the rebellion had diminished Christian-Muslim antag­ onisms. By March 1939, however, she felt that little fundamental change had occurred: "This gradual killing off of the leaders was hav­ ing its effect. More and more, the Rebellion was tending to degener­ ate from a national movement into squabbles between rival rebel bands. Beir Zeit [sic], like many another village, was now little better than a hornet's nest of long-standing family feuds, stirred up afresh in the hope of getting some advantage through the help of this or that party of rebels."5 Numerous incidents attest to the revival of sectarian hostilities between Muslims and Druzes or Christians as well as among Chris­ tian sects.6The lack of clear distinctions among various motivations is evident in a series of reports by the high commissioner to the sec­ retary of state. On April 14, 1938, he reaffirmed that, even in reason­ ably cooperative villages, "It must not be inferred that, however it may be expressed, the attitude of the Arab population is anything but one of inexorable opposition to 'partition' or further develop­ ment of the Jewish National Fiome."7 Five months later he stressed the religious dimension of this opposition: "It has further become increasingly evident that although the appeal of the 'leaders' was di­ rected to foster Palestinian Arab patriotism and the achievement of Arab political independence in this country, they are more and more stressing the religious aspect of their struggle.. . . Among the village population Moslem religious sentiment is a stronger, more unifying and more universal sentiment than Arab nationalism."8 There was no one unit that could claim the unquestioned com­

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mitment of Palestinian Arabs. Religious claims divided the commu­ nity, while Arabism extended its loyalties beyond the Palestinian borders. The historical experience of being Arab and living in Pales­ tine was creating a new communal identity, but it could not yet re­ place older, unchallenged feelings of belonging. These inner struggles produced the intensity of intracommunal warfare and its dissipation in exhausted apathy. In addition to political and religious divisions, the communal con­ flict also embodied the effort of traditional forces to defend them­ selves against the growing strength of another generation and new classes. Thus the disintegration that followed a period of effective mobilization represented a failure to discipline and unify these mani­ fold dimensions of anger. The long-run effect of the revolt was to per­ mit greater social differentiation rather than to reinforce the status quo or to buttress a new unity. During the rebellion two traditionally dependent groups experi­ enced a measure of power: the youth, who were expected to submit in a patriarchal society, and the poorer or landless villagers. The younger generation had been educated in new expectations only to find their desire to act frustrated by circumstances. Their attraction to government service was mixed with anger at its policies, while service to the existing nationalist leadership involved outworn crite­ ria of status and religion. Impoverished villagers were similarly ali­ enated from both the government and the nationalist leadership since neither had protected them from misery.9 These inner struggles were all part of the drive to gain Arab con­ trol over Palestine and thereby to regain a measure of social equi­ librium. The revolt against the British generated at least temporary hope of resolving the growing conflict within the Arab community, which the British had unwittingly helped to intensify by ignoring its existence. During the revolt this was no longer possible, and govern­ ment initiatives became more forthright. This new approach became evident in the introduction of new legislation to control the revolt. The extraordinary measures taken during the revolt exacerbated the difficulties of trying to maintain continuity with traditional cus­ toms while at the same time introducing a formal legal system. In the years prior to 1936 the village population had become accus­ tomed to government as an arbitrator among factions rather than an impersonal authority acting in accordance with an independent ethi­ cal standard. The legal system was viewed by villagers as an in­ strument of this power, with no inherent legitimacy based on inde­ pendent criteria. The sudden imposition of numerous emergency regulations reinforced this view. To villagers the regulations were

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merely another set of arbitrary constraints. Within the central gov­ ernment, however, the new measures represented a shift in thinking, which is revealed in correspondence regarding the new Collective Fines Ordinance of 1936. The particular case that led the acting district commissioner of the Galilee to question this ordinance involved Saf-Saf, a village in the Safad Subdistrict. The assistant district commissioner had im­ posed a fine on villagers because of tree cutting, which he attributed to differences of opinion over the Arab-Jewish boycott in Safad. In his report he pointed out that whereas the earlier Collective Punish­ ment Ordinance had allowed for compensation to be paid to the vic­ tims, the new law did not. The acting district commissioner for­ warded this problem together with his own opinion to the chief secretary. Fie too felt that such fines should remain within the dis­ trict and proposed that they go to the Village Minor Works funds of the district commissioner.10 The acting chief secretary's response revealed that the new law was meant to introduce a new concept in rural justice. Whereas the Collective Punishment Ordinance had dealt with offenses committed by one community against another, the Collective Fines Ordinance was designed to impose penalties for offenses against the state; the government was therefore opposed to any award of compensation. Abstractly the logic of this position is clear, but the distinction be­ tween intracommunal conflict and antistate actions could not al­ ways be clearly drawn. In this case a village feud was interpreted as political opposition; the reverse happened with equal frequency. It is hardly surprising that many in the population were confused by the alteration in government assumptions and supposed legal action to be arbitrary.11 Another case, which occurred in Shefa Amr, reflects the same de­ velopment. This town had experienced bitter feuds between Mus­ lims and Druzes as a result of the general disturbances. In order to resolve the conflict, government officials had initiated a traditional arbitration. The peace settlement was based on an agreement that no more Muslims would be tried for crimes arising out of the feud. De­ spite government involvement in this extralegal procedure, however, charges continued to be brought in military courts, which led to pe­ titions of protest from the mukhtars of villages throughout the area. In forwarding these petitions to the chief secretary, the acting dis­ trict commissioner, Galilee, proposed that they be acknowledged and that "the petitioners be informed that in such cases a third party is also concerned, namely that which is responsible in the interest of law and order for the administration of justice. Fience in the case of

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serious offence, although the parties may come to settlement, it is still necessary to vindicate the law lest others be encouraged to simi­ lar deeds to the detriment of the State/'12 Here the concept of an ab­ stract state was suddenly introduced into a relationship that had al­ ways been dominated by the overriding value of personalities. Many villagers responded with bitterness to the hardened reaction of civilian and military officials in the face of the collapse of govern­ ment authority in many parts of Palestine. A fellah of Wadi Sarar vil­ lage in the Ramleh Subdistrict summed up the position and the probable opinion of many in a petition to the high commissioner re­ ceived on July 5, 1938: We the Fellahin are falling between the devil and the deep blue sea; on one hand the rebels come to our villages, take our money, food, and sometimes kill some of us, on the other hand, the Police come to our villages following these rebels with their dogs. . . . The rebels take money from the rich people only, but the Po­ lice take it from the poor as well. The rebels are more merciful than the Police.13 A memorandum that accompanied the petition attests to the fact that some administrative officers opposed punitive measures. Col­ lective punishment, which required no evidence of personal guilt, aroused much criticism. One district commissioner gave an elabo­ rate and far-reaching analysis of possible consequences: These measures not only (1) destroy the respect and sympathy of the fellahin for our past administrative efforts, such as they were, and seriously jeopardize, for as long as human memory lasts, the future task of pacifying the country and restoring confi­ dence in our administration . . . and (2) send the fellahin, urged on by their womenfolk, to join the rebels in the hills and avenge the destruction of their homes . . . but (3) they will help Hitler and (4) influence the rest of the Arab world against the British. Although he was criticizing measures taken by the military, he ac­ knowledged that the origins of the current difficulties lay elsewhere. He argued that it was immoral, as well as useless, to expect villagers to inform on their own relatives and that military talk of enforcing "village responsibility" was unrealistic. There was, he claimed, no longer any cohesion or free public opinion in the villages; there was no authority except that of the rebels. In his opinion, this situation

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was a direct result of the government's earlier failure to encourage local authorities, but corporate responsibility could not be created during the rebellion.14 The widespread loss of control by the Palestine government over the local population testified to the failure of a policy based on the manipulation of factional disputes to achieve political control. In the past, the complementary dynamics of intravillage feuds and ex­ ternal village cohesion had functioned predictably enough to permit administrative access. This access was based, however, on a com­ bination of geographic isolation and habitual willingness to accept outside authority in exchange for limited gains.15 The rebellion undermined this earlier balance of forces by utiliz­ ing religious as well as political challenges to governmental legiti­ macy and, ultimately, by drawing villagers out of their homes to unite in militant action. Fellah disaffection from government eco­ nomic policies, with the consequent tendency to migrate in search of employment, contributed to easy dissolution of administrative control. As internal conflict prevailed over the semblance of cohe­ sion, villagers came to see government as only one contender in the competition for followers, and not necessarily the strongest. The government's inability to collect more than one-third of the fines im­ posed in 1936 and 1937 testifies to its legal impotence, while the proliferation of rebel courts in response to military courts indicates the popular inclination to put the two on a par with each other.16 Superior forces and the political concessions of 1939 finally suc­ ceeded in restoring order in Palestine; but obedience to power does not necessarily reflect respect for the law. Earlier failure to bring vil­ lages within the purview of an impersonal legal system, together with the lack of collective bodies acting on their behalf and the in­ troduction of extraordinary measures during the rebellion, left vil­ lagers with little reason to see the law as protective rather than in­ trusive or, at best, irrelevant. Government Officers While rebels and military fought one another, British civil officials struggled to maintain a semblance of normalcy in local administra­ tion. Their difficulties were compounded by attacks on Arab officers whose loyalties were questioned both by the Royal (Peel) Commis­ sion and by the rebels. Three years of active and changing rebellion forced these officials to act with care, knowing that they would have little opportunity to explain their behavior. In 1936 higher Arab officials, including district officers, expressed

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their solidarity with the general strike in a statement to the high commissioner. They affirmed the view that Arab officers acted as an important link between government and the Arab population. A l­ though they had done their best to reestablish order, however, they had been met everywhere with skepticism and their efforts at peace making had only earned them "odium and suspicion." They went on to remind the high commissioner of the difficulties they faced: "Dur­ ing these painful weeks, when fellow-countrymen and maybe rela­ tives of ours have been losing their lives every day, we have made every effort to remember our obligations as public servants and contribute, in our small way, to the restoration of peace. But alongside of our obligations as civil servants are the dictates of our consciences. . . ." 17 According to the Royal (Peel) Commission, these dictates made Palestinians unreliable as government officials in times of public dis­ turbances. The commission also found that Arab teachers had sys­ tematically used their positions to inculcate nationalist ideas in their pupils.18 Neither the district commissioners, however, nor the director of the Department of Education accepted these harsh assess­ ments. A policy based on seducing the opposition entailed the denial of fundamentally conflicting interests; it could not suddenly be re­ versed in the midst of crisis, nor could individuals who had worked long and hard with fellow officers completely detach themselves from this relationship. Civil officials, both departmental and local, often undertook to protect their employees from harassment by the military. The Department of Education pursued a policy of protecting per­ sonnel against charges or allegations of illegal action. This defensive stance became especially apparent when civil antagonism to mili­ tary actions was strong in the Department of Education. Only n percent of the teachers studied were reported to be engaged in na­ tionalist politics, and only five individuals had their employment terminated for this reason. These figures unquestionably reflect a minimal response to teacher involvement in the revolt.19 Factional activism within villages often grew out of family dis­ putes. Since party action often relied heavily on local, traditional ties in Palestine, these could not easily be divorced from one an­ other. In handling charges against individual teachers, district inspec­ tors thus had some latitude created by the difficulty of separating nationalist commitments from community affiliations. In August 1939, for instance, Ghaleb Abbasi, a teacher in Sabbarin village, wrote that his home had been searched at the instigation of hostile informers. On October 2 the assistant superintendent of police of the Haifa Rural Division indicated that there was sufficient evidence

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to prepare a case against Abbasi. Nevertheless, the only direct action taken by the district inspector was to transfer the teacher, "owing to the interference of the teacher in village affairs and his presumed connections with the rebels."20 District inspectors tended to attribute complaints against teach­ ers to intrigue unless absolute proof of their criminal behavior was available. In another case, the assistant superintendent of police of the Haifa Rural District took a more active position in asking for the removal of a teacher: "Since the acquittal of the above named by the Military Court, Haifa, on 13-1-40, and his return to Ibellin Village, reports have been received by this office that he is stirring up trouble in the village and carrying on intrigues with the villagers and behav­ ing in a highly irregular manner for an official of such standing and influence in the village."21 The inspector acquiesced in this request, primarily because the police threatened to detain the teacher. He wrote to the director of education, however, that "I am doubtful of the charges brought against Saleh Abd el-Halim by the Police since no specific accusations are presented therein and I presume that they are the result of intrigues by certain persons in the village."22 There were also cases of a different sort which indicate that teach­ ers, like other Arab government officials, often had difficulty main­ taining a neutral or a pro-government position. Safety became a sig­ nificant factor in transfers during the rebellion, and in several in­ stances teachers themselves requested a move. In January 1939 one individual summarized the frustrations of trying to maintain normal conditions in a disordered environment: I applied for transfer from Shefa Amr to escape the danger to which I was exposed twice. From this point of view, where there is no Government centre to secure peace and no fortified house to secure me and my family from attacks, as have occurred in Shefa Amr, Beit Dajan is no less dangerous. . . . In Beit Dajan, as I have previous stated, there is no wholesome place of their [his children's] residence, and the village is so dirty that it appears very hard for them to escape the various and dangerous illnesses.23 In this, as in most other letters from teachers to the department, family, politics, and occupation form a continuum of concerns with little discernible differentiation.24 Teachers were not the only group caught between the rebels and the military. Like the Department of Education, district commis­

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sioners also sought to protect Arab officers on whom they relied. In 1937 all the district commissioners opposed an attempt to abol­ ish the magisterial powers of their subordinates. As one of them explained: Personally, I consider that experienced District Officers know just when an immediate trial is beneficial, moreover the offend­ ers are well aware that the District Officer has so much local knowledge of his sub-district that he is not easily led astray by false evidence. . . . To relieve a District Officer of his magisterial powers after a period of seventeen years would only be under­ stood by the villagers of his sub-district to mean either that he was incapable or that he abused those powers and would consid­ erably lessen his prestige.25 Although this argument prevailed, it did little to restore general trust of the district officer. Personnel reports by district commissioners show growing aliena­ tion on the part of officers of long standing. As late as December 1937 one individual was described as the "old type of steady officer," but a year later the tension had become overt: "This officer is doing his best under grave difficulties, but in all his reports he, while as loyal as he knows how, considers our policy wrong, our actions wrong."26By November 1939 the district commissioner recommended that the man be retired. In a similar case, on the other hand, the official in question was so valuable that, as the revolt ended, he received a promotion.27 Whatever the individual outcome, the confrontation between Pal­ estinian Arabs and the government made Arab officials particularly vulnerable. Many in the British civil administration wished to re­ tain their services. While they understood the ambivalence felt by these individuals in carrying out their obligations, they sought to avoid direct confrontation. As civil administrators, they also sought to achieve a working relationship with the population under their control, and they continued to believe that Arab officers could facili­ tate this relationship. The course of the revolt in fact exposed the extreme tenuousness of government connections with the Arab population.28 The strike that occurred in 1936 released nationalist loyalties that had been constrained by caution in earlier years. As rebellion spread to the vil­ lages, the illusory nature of administrative communication became apparent. One district commissioner cited the decrease in the num-

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ber of district administrators in proportion to secretariat officials as a grave weakness. Another responded with a more general assess­ ment of the problem: Bailey's chief point was the lack of contact with the village ad­ ministration wherein lay the essential weakness of the present administration which virtually amounted to an elaborate super­ structure in Jerusalem without any real foundation. Commented also on danger done by replacing British civil officials in the ad­ ministration by Palestinian, an error which they are now trying to repair, but this must take time.29 Whether they were actively subversive or merely unwilling to im­ pose a policy of which they did not approve, government officers at the lower levels clearly could not fulfill the stabilizing function im­ posed upon them. Some district officers and former district officers did in fact partici­ pate in a nationalist movement whose leadership was, after all, in the hands of a small class of which they were often members. The career of Hilmi Bey al-Husayni, a district officer whose brother was Jamal Bey al-Husayni, provides a striking example. Although Hilmi Bey had been known to use his official position to further Haj Amin's political interests as early as 1933, he did not lose his office; even in 1939, after acting as a courier for the Mufti and appointing a mukhtar suspected of smuggling to the village of Salha, he was permitted to remain officially on leave.30 In this case, British officials over­ looked blatant political activity in the hope of continuing to main­ tain an apparent equilibrium. Their rationale was clearly expressed by the chief secretary in January 1938. Battershill pointed out the reason for the present situation was that the Police did not trust the Arab District Officer. He said that Government had laid down clear orders on the subject. If an Arab District Officer was disloyal or apathetic, it was disastrous to allow him to drop out of the machine and try to torpedo it. He should be put firmly into the collar and broken if he did not work loyally and effectively.31 Arab officials who tried to fulfill their administrative roles faced considerable obstacles as well. Overcentralization and mistrust among individuals as well as services paralyzed the already harassed corps of district officers. The relationship between administrators and police created considerable conflict; in January 1938 an officer

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reported that "the main fault with the present administration is over-centralization. He [the district officer] is not equipped with the requisite status or powers to carry out his job. . . . He does appoint the Mukhtars. The Mukhtars give him some information but they will not give it to the police."32 The strain in all Arab-British relationships was most evident with regard to the military. In September 1937 one district officer bitterly objected to the results of military intrusion into areas formerly gov­ erned by Arab officers. His letter was written in response to military complaints against a particular mukhtar: The Mukhtar is the son of Sheikh Jad Mustafa Diab a notable of the village and from the leading family of Tamra, Acre SubDistrict. The father has been always friendly and helpful to the Government. . . . He is the best man in the village. The son is much like his father and that is why his election as Mukhtar was recommended by me in 1933 at the age of 27. . . . I do not agree to his dismissal as I know much more than a Military officer who visited the village for a short time whether this Mukhtar is or is not fit and suitable as Mukhtar.33 Relationships within the Arab community also remained dis­ turbed. Palestinian officials felt particularly exposed to attack and insecurity. In an administration that had consciously mixed legal with personal authority and rationalized procedures with customary prescription, individuals had no unambiguous guidelines for their action and therefore made choices on the basis of immediate per­ sonal circumstances.34 A wide spectrum of responses resulted. In some cases ambivalence was expressed through official channels. A Christian district officer, for example, is described as follows: This rugged cantankerous officer whose chief characteristic is honesty of purpose conveyed through a crooked mind put up a very brave front during a long period of subjection to more than personal danger. The Army disliked him . . . during the course of the year I never got a report in which he commented favorably on any army action. Nevertheless he used to give them valuable information.35 Others chose to hide their increasing bitterness at British actions, and sometimes at other Arab parties, while performing their func­

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tions at the minimum level. Still others simply withdrew as far as possible from any kind of direct participation. The pressures weighing on district officers during these years also derived from their own social position. Although the strike of 1936 had created significant national unity, this cohesiveness did not sur­ vive when rural bands came to dominate the rebellion. As guerrilla action became widespread in Palestinian villages, violence was often turned against the landlords and government officials who occupied compromising positions. In this situation, officers who disliked Brit­ ish policy did not necessarily sympathize with all who opposed it. Instead, it was a period in which existing cleavages reasserted them­ selves in a strikingly disruptive fashion but also in a new context. Although the period of the revolt itself showed contradictory pro­ cesses at work, the intensity of divisions served to underline the need for a more coherent as well as legitimate normative framework.36 The depth and consistency of this need were evident not only among officials of the Arab upper and middle classes but also within many villages. Although mukhtars were rarely able to perceive or ar­ ticulate the general factors determining their position, they too were subjected to opposing demands on their loyalties. Family or religious differences that had hitherto provided the basis for the mukhtar's role as intermediary now threatened to make him choose not only a factional identity but also, often as a corollary, a definite stance for or against the government he ostensibly served. Again, the responses of mukhtars to this problem were diverse. It is possible only to delin­ eate the prevailing patterns of action and to suggest some of the mo­ tivations behind them.37 The most obvious determinants of the position of village officials were geographical location and the feelings of villagers in the region. The hilly sections of the country were an important center for the revolt. The topographical advantages and social homogeneity of these areas provided the rebel groups of Muslim villagers with bases of op­ eration. The guerrilla leadership emanating from these villages thus drew support more readily from the local population.38 In areas vulnerable to guerrilla intrusion and inadequately pro­ tected by government forces, even mukhtars who wanted to were un­ likely to expose themselves to reprisals by providing information to the police. In some recorded instances and undoubtedly in many more unrecorded ones, mukhtars actively collaborated with the reb­ els. One interesting case illustrates how official intra-Arab relation­ ships could easily be converted into illegal political partnerships. A young Muslim villager told the police that he had been prevented from joining the police by his uncle, who was involved with rebel­

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lious forces. Instead he was introduced to a number of mukhtars as well as sheikhs from the region who were meeting with Izz ad-Din ash-Shawa, an ex-district officer now trying to organize a rebel band.39 Given the circumstances in rural areas during much of 1936 and 1937, it is surprising that any mukhtars continued to supply the gov­ ernment with information. Cooperation with the government tended to reflect either alignment with the opposition to Haj Amin alHusayni or a financial interest in retaining the mukhtar's salary. In 1938 the district commissioner for Galilee and Acre asked his as­ sistants for their views on whether mukhtars should continue to re­ ceive their usual salaries despite the fact that few were performing their functions. The response was affirmative. The assistant district commissioner for Tiberias wrote: "It is clear that in a large number of cases Mukhtars are genuinely attempting, despite circumstances, to carry out their instructions and to cooperate with Government to the best of their ability. The abolition of remunerations would result in a wholesale resignation of mukhtars, which would increase the present lack of touch between Government and people."40 The of­ ficer responsible for Acre concurred: "It is surprising how village mukhtars in spite of the state of non-cooperation of the Arabs with Government and the fact that they must be unpopular amongst vil­ lagers, are carrying out Government and military orders and instruc­ tions. . . . The chief reason why Mukhtars have not resigned in spite of their most difficult position is because they do not want to lose their remuneration."41 The financial motive reflects the social position of mukhtars. Few approved of the government's policy; yet their lack of independent wealth or standing often forced them to rely on their office for mate­ rial support. The balance between mukhtars as representatives of the villagers and mukhtars as the agents of an external power became less and less viable. In April 1938 the mukhtars of Acre Subdis­ trict sent a petition to the district commissioner, complaining that "Mukhtars' duties in villages have become most difficult. In carry­ ing out Government's instructions Mukhtars subject themselves to the resentment of some of the inhabitants who, in order to place Mukhtars in more difficulties for taking Government's side, fab­ ricate intrigues and false accusations against them."42 They went on to say that since mukhtars were considered government servants, they should be protected. In fact, a significant number of mukhtars were either killed or ab­ ducted by rebel bands. Since mukhtars were usually familiar with every villager and hence likely to know of any illegal activity, they

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were naturally vulnerable to attack from both sides. Many simply chose to cooperate with whoever appeared strongest at the time. While guerrilla bands acted in the name of nationalist goals, their loyalties became increasingly narrowed to particular individuals or parties, so that the revolt turned into a fragmented series of waves rather than a unified movement. Hence mukhtars reacted to rebel demands on individual and local bases. Nevertheless, the variability of their behavior and loyalties should not obscure the fact that in a volatile political context the activities of many mukhtars identified them either with their government roles or with the rebellion.43 The ambiguous nature of village leadership must, then, be under­ stood as a cause as well as effect of diffuse village assertiveness throughout the revolt. The frustration that fed violence in rural areas was often channeled through family and religious divisions, but now there were additional components. The quest for both economic se­ curity and viable cultural unity, which reinforced the cohesion of guerrilla bands, also raised questions about the legitimacy of tradi­ tional Arab leaders. Arab officials—both mukhtars and district officers—came out of the revolt at once strengthened and weakened. Those who survived as government representatives regained control as the conflict died down. A new policy enabled them to attach somewhat greater im­ portance to an Arab civil service that might ultimately work in an independent state. But this gain was achieved at the expense of a much closer identification with the government, making it more dif­ ficult to operate simultaneously as cultural or national leaders and as mediators of government power. The change was neither sudden nor obvious; but it led toward active recognition of the fact that not only had a Muslim government been displaced by a non-Muslim one, but an apparatus that functioned indirectly had been replaced by the direct impact of a modern bureaucracy. Conclusion The Arab revolt aroused many expectations and left a legacy of illu­ sions. In the beginning, the revolt seemed to unify Palestinian Arabs and to bring to a head all the various strains of their dissatisfaction. A tremendous release of energy in the countryside matched the sus­ tained, disciplined strike and boycott in the cities. Yet, just as the strike eventually became more burdensome to its perpetrators than to its objects, so the revolt in the countryside ultimately weakened the Arab community while strengthening Jewish self-sufficiency,

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British control, and interference by non-Palestinian Arabs in Pales­ tinian affairs. Nevertheless the revolt remained a symbol of Palestinian resis­ tance. The White Paper of 1939, which conceded many of the de­ mands of the Arab leadership, made the revolt seem a qualified suc­ cess. Such an interpretation, however, attributes to Palestinian Arabs a power they did not have and fails to account for the real disparity between their growing communal bonds and their decreasing ability to determine the political future of that community. Palestinian Arabs no longer had any generally agreed upon criteria for determining the nature of their community and its leadership. The notable network based on family and local bonds had been cor­ rupted by the effort to incorporate it into a modern bureaucratic sys­ tem. Many of the first nationalist generation had cooperated, wit­ tingly or unwittingly, with British policies to obscure the boundary between new institutions and older customs. The result was a purely instrumental political framework with no moral basis for support. Until the mid-thirties it was entirely possible for Palestinian Arabs to feel fully sympathetic to the nationalist movement while at the same time working for the Palestine government. Villagers who did not work for the government could expect official protection and at the same time deny the authority of the administration by attacking its legitimacy. There was no need to choose between using the ser­ vices or offices of the state and repudiating it as invalid. The man­ datory authorities believed themselves to be avoiding confrontation by attracting part of the potential opposition into public service. In fact the confrontation between Palestinian Arabs and the Brit­ ish could not be avoided any more than the conflict between Arabs and Jews could be escaped. The course of the confrontation was nev­ ertheless affected by earlier policies and responses. Policies guided by a desire to avoid conflict had been met with acquiescence by a leadership seeking continuity. Both helped to ensure that when the Arab resistance movement surfaced, it was fragmented and inter­ nally divided. Those who fought did so for a variety of reasons, but all of them sought to gain thereby some control over a situation in which they felt increasingly impotent. Ironically, this temporary nationalist unity set the stage for even greater intervention, both direct and indi­ rect, in the lives of the general Arab population. The Palestine gov­ ernment intensified its efforts to bring rural areas under direct con­ trol by expanding legislation and military access to the villages. This action followed the British government's invitation to other Arab

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states—at the behest of the Palestinian leadership—to mediate the conflict. Both measures came in response to loss of control by the nationalist leadership over the Arab population, and signaled the ma­ turation of a process by which the Palestine government established direct authority in the countryside through a bureaucracy staffed by Palestinian Arabs. The underside of this development was the aliena­ tion of dislocated villagers from all existing forms of authority.

8. Government and Society: Interdependence during the War Years

Restoration of Order The revolt and its aftermath made the quieter changes of earlier years appear both dramatic and irrefutable. It was not accidental that in the thirties Arab attacks were aimed at government installations and personnel as well as at Jews. This change of focus went beyond nationalist recognition that British authorities determined the fu­ ture of the Jewish National Home. It marked the emergence of a new relationship between the state, as represented by the Palestine gov­ ernment, and the Arab community. British insistence on the role of the state as a distinct entity and on the responsibility of public offi­ cials was echoed now by growing popular awareness of the govern­ ment as a social and economic factor. The crisis, expressed in vio­ lence, had divided Arab from Arab, not only because of political differences or family rivalry but also because the government was often represented by members of the community and because the fight against external control had given rise to internal change. Emo­ tionally the Arab community was united in its commitment to in­ dependence and opposition to outsiders. In practice, however, the administration had penetrated sufficiently to engender conflicting strategies for survival. The disunity that characterized the Palestin­ ian Arab nationalist movement owed much to this internal struggle with ongoing capitulation. The White Paper of 1939 expressed altered British plans regarding Palestine and seemed to provide a definite outline of what was to come. The new policy clearly limited further growth of the Jewish National Home and stated British intentions of preparing Palestine for independence. These preparations were to include more active de­ velopment of self-governing institutions as well as increased associa­ tion of Palestinians with daily administration of the country. It may or may not have been fortuitous that British encouragement of Arab

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self-government coincided with the absence of most nationalist leaders from the country. In any case, this circumstance enhanced the possibilities for British control over the development of new institutions.1 During World War II British policy and the requirements of a war­ time economy sustained the momentum of groups that had first emerged under the mandate. Workers, public officials, and profes­ sionals played an increasingly important role within the Arab com­ munity. Their position appeared stronger than it was because most of the earlier leaders of the nationalist movement were absent. Ex­ pectations of eventual independence gave added significance to the efforts of those who sought to use existing opportunities to expand Arab resources. The war also regularized village ties with the mandatory gov­ ernment, which by the forties was an important source of both em­ ployment and aid. Contacts between villagers and urban populations increased at the same time as government activity in rural areas ex­ panded. The revolt, followed by the war, thus encouraged the devel­ opment of broader geographical networks. In certain ways, wartime mobilization seemed to provoke radical change. The growth of labor unions and the large increase in num­ bers of workers suggest rapid proletarianization. Meanwhile, in­ creased prices for agricultural goods dramatically improved the stan­ dard of living for cultivators who remained on the land. A more active government policy led to the creation of two new departments—the Department of Labor in 1941 and the Department of Social Welfare in 1942—in order to manage the social effects of urbanization. The exigencies of a wartime economy also forced the Palestine government to temper its efforts to keep villagers in the countryside. Villagers provided much of the labor needed by industry and the military; migration to urban centers was thus an inevitable conse­ quence of official manpower needs. In response to this situation, measures were taken to encourage trade unions and to provide aid to resettled village families. In many cases, however, men moved to find work while their wives, children, and parents remained at home. Those who owned land con­ tinued to be interested in agriculture, albeit at a distance. Traffic be­ tween villages and cities became more regular as Palestinians sought new work opportunities without relinquishing their ties to their na­ tive villages. Thus, despite the development of countrywide eco­ nomic and social networks, village life changed slowly and unevenly. In the first years of the war, officials recognized that the basic needs of Arab villagers had rarely been met in the past and that what­

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ever development had taken place had seldom been due to govern­ ment initiative.2 In his response to a report on colonial development in 1941, High Commissioner MacMichael spoke of feeling humble in the face of the obvious inadequacy of government planning in the past. The difficulties Palestine had undergone during the revolt did not excuse the failure to deal adequately with rural development. According to MacMichael, even before 1936 the rapid development of the country had outstripped the capacity of the Agricultural De­ partment to deal with it.3 The most effective stimulus to the Palestinian economy thus came as a result of wartime mobilization, and not from local devel­ opment projects. In Arab villages, the primary effect of the war was to free their inhabitants from indebtedness. An expanding market, the lack of imports, and concerted administrative efforts to increase productivity all helped to raise the rural population's standard of liv­ ing. At the same time, many villagers were absorbed in expanding industrial production.4 Wartime prosperity brought greater capital into many villages and enabled them to finance necessary improvements. At the same time migration to urban centers increased. Even after the war, many de­ mobilized villagers preferred to remain in the cities rather than at­ tempt to return to agricultural occupations.5 Although physically absent, they constituted a resource and model for villagers who re­ mained on the land. In the forties Arab villagers were for the first time in a position to satisfy some of their own needs and desires be­ yond those of basic subsistence. Their pragmatic initiatives coin­ cided with renewed government efforts to stabilize its relationship with the rural population. The Impact of Policy: District Officers and Municipalities As the Palestine government regained control over the country, a new set of relationships between government and society began to emerge. The last months of the revolt left Arab society not only ex­ hausted but internally fragmented and more vulnerable than ever. The emergence of a broader communal consciousness, less limited by regional differences, had not produced effective leadership. Many national leaders were no longer in Palestine, and for Arabs the state began to replace communal organizations as the only concrete source of authority. From the government's point of view, its temporary loss of control made evident the need for better and more reliable organization in rural areas. As early as December 1938 the high commissioner pro­

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posed changes in the district administration. Noting the significant differences between urban and village needs, he suggested that Pal­ estine be redivided into six districts, three predominantly urban and three rural. He stressed the difficulties caused by employing, on the one hand, British officers without sufficient language training and, on the other hand, Palestinians: The troubles of the past two and a half years have revealed the inevitable and not unnatural weakness of a district admin­ istration founded upon Palestinian district officers in direct contact with the people and insufficiently controlled by an ex­ iguous nucleus of British administrators over them and in my opinion it will be long before it is safe to return to an organiza­ tion of that kind. Since the posts of district officers could not be suppressed or abol­ ished, he proposed to reduce their numbers gradually by not filling vacancies.6 The attitude now taken toward local administration was more pro­ fessional. In order to create a responsible civil service, serious efforts were made to decentralize control. A summary of developments be­ fore 1939 shows the importance of this shift: There are probably few dependencies in which work is so highly centralized as it is in Palestine. This is attributable to two main causes, first, to the rapid development of the country which has taken place in every direction since the British Occupation and, secondly, to its small size and good communications. At the time of the Occupation and for some thereafter . . . it was pos­ sible for one man to keep in his own hands the detailed supervi­ sion of all activities even of a major Department. This situation had continued until, during the war, district boards were established to give local officials greater powers of coordination as well as control in their areas.7 The criteria for choosing district officers also now focused more on individual training and personality than on social standing. In 1943 a circular describing vacancies for cadet district officers speci­ fied that: "The essential requirements are the possession of a sound education preferably of university standard; a strong personality with plenty of initiative; tact and discretion; ability to appreciate the point of view and needs not only of those under the officer's charge, but of departmental colleagues; and a firm character." Candi­

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dates also had to be under thirty years of age, which indicates a de­ sire to recruit and train a new generation for administrative careers.8 The government could draw from an expanded pool of manpower in the forties, but recruitment generated new problems. By 1943 the Palestinian civil service was more efficiently organized and able to express demands that showed greater self-consciousness. Statements issued by the second division of the Civil Service Association argued for broader consultation within the service as well as higher salaries. Since the public service was no longer as financially rewarding or as prestigious as it had once been, measures were needed to maintain the quality of applicants and to protect them in the competition with private enterprise and the independent professions.9 The dispersion of the nationalist leadership during the war strength­ ened the role of Arab appointees as mediators between the govern­ ment and population. In towns as well as villages, autonomy and self-government foundered in the face of official distrust. The muni­ cipal councils elected in 1934 had soon been paralyzed by the up­ heavals of the revolt. The government's response to the resultant dis­ array had been, in many cases, to dismiss elected councils and replace them with appointed commissions run by district officers. Often the commissions were truncated bodies with no popular support. More­ over, the sector of the population that was legally entitled to vote and constituted the normal base of administrative control had been further narrowed by the flight of some of its members to neighboring countries.10 After 1939 consultation with representatives of the Arab commu­ nity became more necessary and more useful for the government. In seeking direct contacts with local leaders, the high commissioner consulted Suleiman Tuqan, mayor of Nablus and a political moder­ ate throughout the revolt. Tuqan made it clear to him that most for­ mer political leaders feared charges of collaboration by the Mufti. Unless they were given power as well as responsibility, such individ­ uals were inclined to avoid a relationship that made them vulnerable to charges of betraying the nationalist cause.11 While the administration desired local support, it was still re­ luctant to grant substantial power to elected representatives. As a result, the national structure that emerged amounted to broader con­ sultation within the same stratum of mayors, landowners, and cer­ tain businessmen. In the towns themselves elections were held again in the 1940s; although the mayors of some cities took greater ini­ tiatives for public welfare in these years, there is little evidence that the fundamental dependence of municipalities had changed.12 The Tulkarm election of 1945 provides an example of the ambiguity

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and mistrust that pervaded the effort to establish new self-governing institutions. From 1934 to 1945 Tulkarm had been governed by a municipal commission chaired by Hashim Effendi al-Jayyusi. When the assistant district commissioner proposed an electoral commit­ tee in 1945, he included Jayyusi among its six members; anonymous notices accusing Jayyusi of acting against the people and caring for no one but the government that appointed him were dismissed as outgrowths of a personal feud. In a letter to the assistant district commissioner of Tulkarm, however, Jayyusi appealed to the govern­ ment, apparently to protect himself in a difficult and unclear situa­ tion. He claimed that he was being forced to register unqualified vot­ ers and requested that a government official be appointed to witness the committee's activities.13 The work of this electoral committee was further complicated by the expulsion and reinstatement of a Christian member. It is evident from the difficulties encountered in registering voters that political disagreements and factionalism expressed themselves at this level rather than through elections. Only when the district officer began to attend meetings was registration completed; elections finally took place July 4, 1947.14 The history of urban government in Palestine reflects many of the strains created by a sudden change of policy that was designed to cor­ rect what were now believed to be earlier mistakes without recogniz­ ing their long-term consequences. Before the war the government had tried to retain older institutions and leadership while supporting the Jewish National Home. After the revolt, British officials recog­ nized that change was inevitable, but they still hoped to control it. In the meantime, however, new groups with a claim to leadership were developing among the village youth, as well as among the ur­ ban middle class; they found themselves between a mandatory gov­ ernment that hampered the development of genuine autonomy and a nationalist movement still riven by social divisions. Palestinians in the cities, especially the Arab professional middle class, were keenly aware of their dependent position vis-a-vis governmental authority. This growing body of educated activists suf­ fered most from the British commitment to continuity. Their rep­ resentatives were among the most articulate exponents of selfgovernment in the 1920s and 1930s; by the 1940s some had begun to support internal social change as well as political independence.15 The inability to recognize and support this class by accepting the increasing evidence of social and economic change was a necessary consequence of the Palestine government's policy of maintaining control. In the villages, this policy conditioned the renewed discus­

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sion of alternatives in local government, which began in 1938 and became more specific in the early forties. By this time, the general inadequacy of Arab local councils was recognized. Although existing councils continued to function, no new ones were added; the ad­ ministration turned instead to legislation designed specifically for villages.16 Village Government Wauchope had first made the decision to reactivate village organiza­ tion in 1935, but no consistent approach to the issue materialized until the end of 1938. By then the new high commissioner, Mac­ Michael, had lent his support to the plan for reorganization. Both high commissioners were interested in the development of village government as proof of the integrity of British mandatory policy. They also realized that rural disruption had destroyed a tenuous sta­ bility and that the government had to recreate connections with the villagers. The outbreak of war in September 1939 gave added impe­ tus by stimulating the drive for effective mobilization of the popula­ tion. In 1940, therefore, MacMichael appointed a committee to de­ velop a legislative proposal for the revival of village institutions.17 The Bailey Committee Report on Village Administration was sub­ mitted on October 2, 1941. It stresses the continuity that British officials persisted in attributing to rural society, despite their own accurate analyses of the changes that had occurred. The introduc­ tion to the report summarizes the history of village organization under Ottoman government and states that since 1934 "neither the council of elders nor the office of mukhtar has had any legal exis­ tence, although mukhtars have continued to be appointed."18 Ac­ cording to the report, lack of government support had contributed to a decline in the authority of village elders. Advances in selfgovernfnent were limited and confined to urban areas; no steps to de­ velop local autonomy had been taken in the one thousand villages that contained 50 percent of the Palestinian population. The com­ mittee's assessment of the current situation in rural areas points out the absence of any legal foundation for village authority. Although councils of elders, committees of arbitration, and mukhtars con­ tinued to function, they had no legal status.19 The bulk of the report comprises suggestions for the revival and formalization of the pre­ rogatives customarily ascribed to village leaders. The report cites the case of Anebta (Tulkarm Subdistrict) as proof of the need for new legislation to support existing practices. In this village, the council of elders had continued to meet regularly despite

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the existence of a local council. The authors agreed with the Royal (Peel) Commission that meaningful development had to utilize "such inherent self-governing impulses and institutions as the people pos­ sess."20The committee therefore proposed that village councils with executive and in some cases judicial functions be established. The writers recommended, however, that this system of village councils and courts first be applied to a few "enlightened" villages. The sys­ tem would then be extended "only in response to demand and in the light of experience gained." The Bailey Committee report's basic thrust, then, was to place the rural sector within a national legal framework by legitimizing exist­ ing institutions. The proposed legislation also provided for greater specificity in the powers and responsibilities of officially recognized village councils. Nevertheless, these councils were to remain under close supervision by district commissioners.21 It is necessary to ask why it suddenly became necessary to rein­ force organizations or customs that were presumed to be "inherent" and stable. That is, why make explicit village power relationships that were previously unquestioned? The evolution of the mukhtarship provides an answer. The Bailey Committee dealt with this office as part of its overall effort to improve local administration. The Municipal Corporations Ordinance of 1934 had revoked all legal provisions for the appointment of mukhtars. This technicality, barely noticed at the time, became the subject of discussion after 1938. By 1939 administrators were thoroughly familiar with the gen­ eral attributes of the mukhtarship. The term mukhtar covered a wide range of individuals. It included men of little status as well as large landowners. Some mukhtars represented whole villages, while others catered only to closely knit kinship or religious groups. Dur­ ing the revolt, some mukhtars had acted on behalf of the government at considerable risk, while others worked closely with rebel groups. Despite such diversity, district administrators were inclined to as­ similate mukhtars into a government hierarchy, and this took on the force of policy after the revolt.22 In 1938 all the district commissioners agreed that unlike village elders (who should be elected), mukhtars should be appointed. They reasoned that the mukhtar, as a government official, was subject to direct hiring and dismissal.23 The Bailey Committee report of 1942 acknowledged this view and supported it in part. The report found that the mukhtar was so closely tied to the government that at times his office was regarded with contempt and shunned by individuals with education or independent standing. The committee accepted the premise that mukhtars were government functionaries with

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little control over internal village administration but recommended that the office be upgraded to attract more qualified people.24 The situation that developed in the forties reveals some contradic­ tions and ambiguities in the actual installation of mukhtars. Official policy stressed the need to limit the numbers of mukhtars while aiming at strengthening their positions as civil servants. The Village Administration Ordinance also provided for greater control over the quality of mukhtars. In Samaria, this was interpreted to mean the establishment of a permanent corps of village officials, under the di­ rection of district commissioners and their assistants rather than district officers. In October 1944 the district commissioner of this area asked his assistants for the names of mukhtars to be published and given permanent status. Only those who were fully satisfactory were to be given this formal appointment; others were to retain office as acting officials. He continued: "The opportunity should now be taken of reviewing the capabilities of mukhtars and of retiring those who have grown too old for the fairly arduous tasks which are now imposed upon them and of dismissing those whose services are not satisfactory. . . . The number of mukhtars for any one village unit should not be increased without prior reference to me."25 As this letter suggests, the process of replacement could only be gradual, and there are indications that no serious changes had occurred by 1947. It is undeniable that greater efforts were made to systematize sources of information concerning these officials and, at times, to draw them into a broader administrative network. In Haifa District, for example, mukhtars met regularly to hear and discuss reports on the quality of rural life. Nevertheless, villages often retained their established social divisions,- by continuing to appoint mukhtars on this basis the district administration acted in accordance with cus­ tom and against its announced policy.26 The actual variation in mukhtars7qualities, in their views of them­ selves, and in popular feelings about them depended upon the condi­ tions in individual villages or areas. In some more developed regions there are indications that mukhtars gradually came to see them­ selves as government officials with the prerogatives of civil ser­ vants.27 Mostly, however, villagers continued to view mukhtars as their only source of representation and to insist therefore upon com­ munal control over the office. Village petitions attacking mukhtars generally complained that their mukhtar was illiterate while literacy was an increasingly im­ portant prerequisite of office, or they expressed dissatisfaction with his economic status, or they claimed that one family was dominat­ ing the village. In a number of cases, villagers argued that officers

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who had participated in the revolt should not be retained. While the motivation for this argument was often questionable, it communi­ cated a continued awareness of political and social divisions from that period.28 Despite an expressed official commitment to village unification, therefore, the evidence indicates little change in local divisiveness. Where changes did occur, they were at another level: either in a movement from traditional to new categories, or in demands for greater competence. In Ijzim and Samakh, for example, a distinct awareness of class differences entered into the choice of mukhtars; elsewhere, younger men gained popularity. More often, charges of corruption and favoritism, along with demands for accountability, reached the offices of district commissioners.29 The charge that mukhtars were not elected, as they should have been, was raised again in the 1940s, but it was a claim registered pri­ marily by outsiders. A record of representations made by Kassem Effendi Rimawi of the Arab Higher Committee in April 1947 testifies to the persistence of certain problems. He complained of "the pres­ ent system of appointing mukhtars without democratic election, which was most unsatisfactory and was leading to increased fassad [dissension], the greatest obstacle to progress in the Arab villages. He alleged that in many cases District Officers were being bribed to ap­ point mukhtars."30These facts were not disputed by British officials. Rather than hold elections, however, they continued to approach the problem as they had in the past: by controlling factional divisive­ ness through specific decisions as to where it should be recognized and where it could safely be ignored. Consequently, the policy of in­ stitutionalizing the position of mukhtars was largely undermined by the actions of those entrusted with its implementation.31 The evi­ dence strongly suggests that traditional leadership and institutions had been severely weakened during the previous decade; as a result, government officials now had to choose between rebuilding this structure under official auspices or permitting its dissolution. Past dependence upon notables for effective control together with the de­ cision (made in 1939) to prepare Palestine for self-government helped to determine the outcome of this choice. Initiatives in the 1940s It is difficult to judge the effects of the new legislation for village ad­ ministration, since the mandate ended three and one-half years after its promulgation. It is possible nonetheless to detect a significant al­ teration in village attitudes toward government and toward official

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149

village administration in general in the 1940s. It is not hard to find evidence for the expansion of village interests that took place during World War II; activity occurred at all levels of local government and administration. A comparative survey of local budgets clearly shows the increase in financial resources that accompanied the war and expanded vil­ lage opportunities. In the villages, government-sponsored organiza­ tions controlled and allocated food production; wartime require­ ments stimulated these efforts to mobilize the entire population of Palestine within a more rational administrative structure. At the same time generational and social change increased.32 Between 1943 and 1947 village procedures acquired coherence. A l­ though British administrative supervision remained strong, villagers began to assert their own priorities, to request councils, and to ques­ tion the legitimacy of electoral lists. Often the problems raised by petitions concerned dissatisfactions with nominees or factional dis­ agreements, but at least in some villages lawyers were called in and complaints concerned specific issues of law. This was true in Samakh, Galilee, when in August 1947 one party sought to void elec­ tions held in March by the district officer. The complaint stated that the officer, acting in conjunction with a small group of notables, had limited participation in the elections to ensure the outcome. Inves­ tigation by the Crown Counsel supported the contentions of the petitioners.33 Accounts of elections held in Tarshiha between 1943 and 1947 re­ flect far greater popular understanding of the mechanisms involved; nevertheless, certain traditional values still hindered rapid change. In 1947 the district officer for Acre received fourteen nominations for the council on February 22; on February 26 thirteen of the four­ teen withdrew. He explains his understanding of the change: They [the thirteen] were all youngish men and seemed interested in the Labour Movement. They had put in their nominations with the idea of having a young progressive Council. The older men of the village had been caught napping but, after the nomi­ nations had been entered, they called a meeting and persuaded these young men that affairs of the village would be better en­ trusted to wise old heads. The young men in the face of family authority agreed.34 The promulgation of the Village Administration Ordinance in 1944 led to renewed activity on the part of administrators, who es­ tablished councils in a few of the most "progressive" villages. One

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district commissioner held a meeting in Nablus in October 1944 in order to discuss application of the ordinance. It was decided that its provisions should be applied to three villages in each subdistrict: "The Councillors would be the choice of the people and acceptable to the people of the Village. . . . The bigger 'hamoulehs' might be represented by more than one member. The practical method would be for the number per 'hamouleh' to be fixed and then the 'hamou­ leh' hold a meeting and select their representative by popular ac­ clamation."35 Although the purpose of the ordinance was clearly to encourage village cohesiveness, its application remained bound by traditional customs. Caution governed the introduction of changes in rural areas. Nev­ ertheless, renewed British commitment to development and legal change concentrated official attention on particularly promising areas. Moreover, certain villages took the initiative in requesting that local councils be established, which suggests that rural differ­ entiation had gained momentum and was emerging on the political plane. The results were by no means uniform. Some villages feared that councils would lead to rapid urbanization and opposed them vigorously; others saw an advantage in the provisions for legal and political organization.36 By 1946 twenty-four village councils existed in areas chosen for development. Only two villages had a predominantly Christian popu­ lation, while two others had a Christian minority; none was solely Christian. The rest, with one exception (which was Druze) were en­ tirely Muslim. There was a marked change in geographical distribu­ tion as well, particularly in the southern part of the country. Seven village councils (six of them in Gaza Subdistrict) were formed in this area, serving a population that was consistently larger than in any other area. Jerusalem District likewise underwent rapid develop­ ment, particularly in the areas around Ramallah. The Galilee re­ mained relatively static while Samaria changed gradually.37 In order to interpret these facts, we must place them in per­ spective. The growth of local institutions was predicated on village viability, which may explain why the Haifa area had neither local nor village councils and only one village council existed near Jaffa. Both were growing cities that drew on nearby village populations for labor, thus having greater impact on the breakdown of social cohe­ sion than Jerusalem. Furthermore, the Christian population showed a far greater tendency toward urbanization than the Muslim, which was probably significant in the Haifa area. Most of the entirely Chris­ tian villages were located in Acre Subdistrict, and they were prob­ ably an important source of such migration.

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The method followed by administrators in forming recognized councils in other areas still depended heavily upon family or reli­ gious divisions. A fairly typical procedure was described by a former district commissioner in his advice to I. L. Phillips, acting district commissioner from Gaza: You should first determine the total number of councillors to be chosen and the particular number to represent each hamouleh; these numbers would exclude the mukhtars (who are members ex-officio) and would be based roughly on the comparative figures of population. At Salfit we did not hold elections but required the heads of families within each hamouleh to nominate their repre­ sentative or representatives. Formal elections seemed to me to be rather too advanced a procedure for such a community, and as it proved, there were no disputes over the nominations.38 A note on "Local or Village Council Procedure" indicates adminis­ trative interest in educating the new councils in parliamentary modes of procedure. The list of instructions deals with the constitution of councils, arrangements for calling meetings, the duties of council chairmen, and so forth. It contains an interesting mixture of stan­ dard parliamentary rules and elementary precautions. In a paragraph dealing with "Procedure on Assembly," for example, a sentence on quorums is followed by the instructions that a chairman "himself will NOT vote at first" and that voting is done by raising the right hand.39 This tendency to vacillate between fairly sophisticated concepts of local government and strongly paternalistic precepts suggests that administrators were confused as to how to approach local councils. While family and religious segmentation remained primary in most villages, a consensus of priorities among villagers was beginning to emerge. The impact of this change was magnified because district officials were at the same time altering their own perspective. They were more willing to accept the views of village councillors as legiti­ mate and less likely to ascribe them to family divisions than in ear­ lier years. Initiatives in Education The relative financial freedom brought to villagers by wartime con­ ditions released them from constraints on their ability to act.40 The consequent willingness to allocate resources for schools and teach­

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ers demonstrated the depth of village interest despite the lack of gov­ ernment response in earlier years. In December 1945 an evaluation of official school building found that since 1918 the government had built only five Arab elementary schools at its own cost—hardly a meaningful contribution to the education of a child population that had doubled under the man­ date.41 Moreover, teacher training remained at a level substantially below that required by existing schools. By 1943 only twenty-eight boys and twelve girls reached the fourth secondary year annually in government schools; in the private sector, the numbers were sixty and ten, respectively. The director of education argued that since un­ trained individuals were available to serve as teachers, there was no lack of staff. Nevertheless, public demand and willingness to finance education far exceeded the supply of professional teachers.42 Discussions held in 1946 and 1947 show the cumulative effects of British reluctance to invest in village schools. Even the minimal goals projected in the early thirties remained unfulfilled after the war. Rural teachers were particularly demoralized by living condi­ tions in the countryside. Many teachers lacked housing, and general wartime shortages exacerbated this problem. The director of educa­ tion informed the chief secretary that it would be difficult to achieve "social progress" in the Arab rural community as long as teachers had "to live in sordid and squalid conditions."43 Moreover, it was be­ coming increasingly difficult to secure rural teachers prepared to ac­ cept such low standards of comfort. The Palestinian press labeled the situation an emergency in the school system. The director of educa­ tion, unwilling to accept the term crisis, preferred to admit that chronic problems existed. The housing crisis was merely a minor re­ flection of more substantial issues.44 By 1946 Palestine had suffered a shortage of trained teachers for many years. War employment aggravated the situation by creating a shortage of untrained teachers as well. The high cost of living during and after the war further limited the number of people willing to live on the small salary of a teacher. Like other parts of the civil ser­ vice, then, the Department of Education was frustrated in its efforts to attract applicants just as the potential supply of teachers was increasing.45 A policy of centering village development around teachers could not succeed with untrained personnel. Yet in villages unclassified teachers far outnumbered secondary-school graduates.46 Village re­ sponse to neglect by state authorities was not apathetic; the follow­ ing petition describes a typical pattern:

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The foundation of our Malha school goes back to around 1890, it started as a (kuttab) that satisfied the needs of the village whose population then was 450. After the British occupation Malha Village School continued to be a Government School under the administration of the Department of Education. In 1933 we provided the first floor of the present building and the Department of Education facilitated the appointment of teachers partly at the expense of the village fund. The school progressed until it became a full elementary in 1942. By 1947, when this letter was written, villagers had provided a new building and requested a teacher to institute secondary classes.47 Educational efforts in certain villages now began to generate an in­ dependent process of change. This was apparent in the continued growth of private village schools and the large sums contributed to support government institutions. The rural population also became more precise in its demands during this period. Villagers were par­ ticularly interested in the development of secondary boys7 and ele­ mentary girls7 schools. To circumvent limitations of size, they pro­ posed the establishment of joint village schools. There was a marked increase in village pressure on government officials to supply educa­ tional facilities. The rigidity of departmental policies on education was called into question in those villages most open to development. On the one hand, communities that had invested in schools did not care to re­ tard their evolution in order to permit new schools in other areas. For the first time Arab villagers had accumulated enough resources to support their strong interest in providing educational opportuni­ ties for their chldren. In January 1946, the district officer for Jerusa­ lem Rural Subdistrict described a fairly extensive school building program that was being financed almost entirely by villagers. He added that the government was being severely criticized for not con­ tributing more to the cost of developing education in Arab rural areas.48 On the other hand, size was no longer a legitimate criterion for limiting education, as the district inspector for Jerusalem observed: "In many cases, each village serves the educational purpose of other villages surrounding it, and on the other hand, as these villages are greatly affected by the urban attitudes, their inhabitants are very keen on education.7749The department was caught between the large number of villages with no facilities and those, like Rama, where the Young Men's Union actively campaigned for growth. According to a

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petition, the boys' elementary school in Rama did not go beyond the seventh grade. As a result, "the students whose education ends at this stage have no alternative but to loiter in the streets leading a careless existence." Despite popular demand for expansion of the school, no change had taken place for the last twenty years. The pe­ titioners therefore asked that higher classes be established for boys and that the same privilege be accorded to girls, the majority of whom remained semi-literate at best.50 Government policy with regard to rural secondary schools was cautious. Prerequisites included an adequate field of selection for students, a hostel, qualified teachers, and a good school garden. Courses were designed to prepare boys who were planning to remain in the locality for farming. Despite this official caution, secondary classes were approved at an accelerated rate in the forties as demand and literacy increased. The assistant district commissioner for Tul­ karm in 1946 described the cycle to which villagers had hitherto been subject: For some time I have been strongly impressed by the demand for education on the part of the fellahin. It is particularly tragic to see this urge being frustrated and this very frustration leading to western condemnation of the people as backward. . . . The townships have a better opportunity to increase their stock of learning, and, thus, their future prospects in life. Very rarely will, or indeed, can the township secondary schools accept boys from the villages. What is required, as a first step, is the creation of a complete secondary school in each sub-district dedicated to the service solely of the fellahin.51 This was precisely the demand made by the mukhtars of Tarshiha, who summarized a situation that existed in other areas as well. They pointed out that Tarshiha had served as a regional center for fifteen villages with a population of 15,000. Tarshiha had had the first ele­ mentary school in the district, but the graduates from its seventh grade could rarely continue their education because of the difficul­ ties of finding and financing further education in more distant sec­ ondary schools.52 Villagers in some areas were expressing their frustration much more vigorously than ever before. In addition to requesting higher education, they pressed for girls' schools and for schools serving groups of villages.53 The earlier development of boys' schools and the breakdown of geographic isolation were generating more sophisti­

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cated concerns. The rapidity and hunger that characterized change in the forties is exemplified by Saf-Saf, which had had a one-room school from 1920 until 1943, when a second room was built. In 1944 villagers appointed a teacher (at their own expense), permitting the development of a fifth class, in which English was taught. As a re­ sult, boys from neighboring villages came to the school, bringing its enrollment to 150 in 1946. Also as a result of this expansion, eight graduates of the school were working as teachers in other villages by 1946.54 Another example, in the south, is provided by Kheiriya Vil­ lage School in Ramleh Subdistrict: "The progress of this school dur­ ing the last two years has been meteoric. In 1944-45 it had 106 pupils in one classroom, taught by one teacher. . . . It has now 175 pupils in seven classes."55 Even in areas that had been comparatively neglected, there was considerable movement.56 The evidence of effective action on the part of villagers raises ques­ tions about its causes and its quality. The contribution of the Pal­ estine government in this area parallels official responses to the evo­ lution of other rural institutions. Despite the Education Ordinance announced in 1933, it was not until 1940 that efforts were made to regularize procedures for the financing of education in the villages. In 1940 the director of education wrote to district commissioners asking for regularized collections to support education. He pointed out that funds heretofore had rarely been raised by fair and proper distribution of the cost among villagers. When money was required, the district officer generally told mukhtars to collect it; but it was not always clear how the collection was made.57 Three years later, after joint schools were a reality in some areas, another official ar­ gued for legal clarity, observing that "it is possible to get over the difficulties of establishing regional schools but it would be much better if we know that we were also backed by law."58 The coinci­ dence in timing between these developments and other efforts to es­ tablish legal boundaries in the villages suggests that processes of in­ ternal reorientation were forcing themselves on administrators. Government versus Society: The Unresolved Conflict The impetus for modern educational institutions in Palestine thus was not due directly to state action, but was rather the product of more complex forces. At least two independent developments con­ tributed to this process: on the one hand, the growth of an educated sector with increased technical expertise, and on the other hand, the emergence of new priorities among villagers themselves. The grad­ ual increase in graduates from public secondary schools (and schol­

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ars trained abroad), along with the expansion of national schools, fed these developments and thus had an impact on Arab society far be­ yond the number of students affected. Not surprisingly, professionals often cited the neglect of education in Palestine as indicative of British failures to fulfill their responsi­ bilities. R. Tamimi, a lawyer who was later a member of the Arab Higher Committee, drew attention to the broader problems affecting villagers. In a memorandum to the high commissioner, he pointed out the ineffectiveness of schools in the absence of improvements in other areas of village life, such as sanitation. Blaming the British for these conditions, Tamimi argued that even those who went to school could rarely use their education to improve the quality of rural exis­ tence. The most consistent pressure came from urban groups. The issues they raised were inclusive and articulated genuine concern for, as well as knowledge of, entire regions. The Public Affairs Office in Gaza, for example, submitted an extensive report on the school situation in the Gaza and Beersheba subdistricts in 1946. The intro­ duction sets forth an important premise: Education is no longer considered a luxury, nor is it restricted to one class of the population or to the male sex. It has become a necessity which is felt by every one. It is the duty of Government therefore, to make education available to every boy or girl who is in the school age for it is only through true education that one becomes a good patriot and a useful member of society. There is no doubt that a Government which sets out to suppress educa­ tion or fails to satisfy the needs of the inhabitants in that respect is an incompetent government whose policy deserves every criticism.59 It is noteworthy that most demands made on the government in these years were formulated in terms of the relationship between state and society. In this way there was implied an acceptance of a political authority that represented the Palestinian entity, even though the legitimacy of this particular government remained open to question. The promise of Palestinian independence held out in 1939 marked an important change in British policy. It coincided with significant social changes that tied parts of the countryside more closely to the cities while also strengthening the connection between government and population. The revolt and then the war forced many villagers into direct contact with British forces at a time when the nationalist movement was weakened. The emotions generally aroused by such

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direct intrusion were hostile—extremely so before 1939—but they could not obscure important developments among villagers. As the revolt died out, it was replaced by a renewed concern with ordinary life; and after a period of recovery, wartime necessities helped to re­ place destructive political divisions with interest in specific issues. The legacy of the revolt in the countryside was a continued aware­ ness of the ties that bound Arabs to one another and, at the same time, of the force wielded by the state. This recognition of positive government authority did not in any way imply a loyalty to the Brit­ ish occupiers. Rather, it strengthened the notion of a centralized but accessible source of power, thus implicitly creating a stronger impe­ tus for national Palestinian unity to control it. The impact of political upheaval in the villages was mixed. De­ spite the economic strain and generational change that contributed to temporary dislocations, the basic structures and orientations that characterized the village population generally absorbed these shocks. There was a strong tendency in Arab society, most pronounced among Muslims, to resist external direction by incorporating new institu­ tions into an existing set of conceptions. Only over a period of time, as the logical development of these institutions unfolded, did the underlying assumptions change. This process was especially evident with regard to education. To the Palestinian villager education usually meant two things: the pos­ sibility of more respected as well as more remunerative work, and increased facility in bridging the socioeconomic gap between town and village. For most villagers literacy remained a distant goal, but for those who achieved it, further education and a suitable, often nonagricultural, position represented the appropriate reward. British officials had difficulty in evolving a realistic rural educa­ tional program for Palestine. They were hampered from the outset by financial problems, but these did not determine priorities. In out­ lining educational goals, however, they tried to solve two problems simultaneously: they strove for universal literacy while seeking to preserve and manipulate the stratification of society. They never re­ solved the contradiction between these two aims, nor did they take into account the profound effect on them of changes external to edu­ cation. A memorandum written by Jerome Farrell in 1944 reflects the resulting ambivalence. He begins by stressing that the rural pub­ lic school's primary duty is to provide a minimum level of literacy, which should be achieved within an environment that makes agri­ cultural life attractive but without being intentionally vocational. He strongly decries any suggestion that village children should be denied educational advantages available to town children, and em-

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phasizes that the object of developing agricultural studies in rural towns is: "to emphasize the importance of the rural environment and to promote economic cooperation between town and country or at least a sympathetic attitude of one to the other. This approach to social unity by the rural education of townsfolk is perhaps almost as important as the proper rural education of the peasantry/'60This for­ mulation denies, however, the serious gap that existed between rural and urban education, partly as a result of earlier policies; further­ more, it offered little support for the intensive technical training needed by the Arab population. The construction of a Jewish National Home had accelerated the movement toward a modern economy in Palestine long before World War II; at the same time, the failure of development plans to encour­ age agricultural productivity among Arab villagers had contributed to the migration of unskilled labor to urban centers. The Arab com­ munity, both urban and rural, was conscious of the need to respond to these dislocations, but that response, articulated by a traditional leadership and hampered by the inadequacy of political institutions, remained primarily political. The British, however, sought in many ways to shield the Arab community, particularly its rural sector, rather than recognize the forces that made this an impossibility. World War II hastened the pace of modern economic development and forced into the open many imbalances. In 1945 the dearth of Arab engineers and architects as well as skilled artisans was openly acknowledged. The British Council, which offered scholarships to municipal employees with professional training for further educa­ tion abroad, found few candidates. The district commissioner for Lydda summarized the situation in a response to the chief secretary: This situation provides an outstanding example of the ser­ ious lack of qualified Arab engineers and technicians in this country. . . . The situation demands the most earnest attention as it reveals a serious fault in the educational system of the country if after twenty-five years of British administration, neither qualified en­ gineers or artisans are obtainable. If the East is to meet the West on comparable terms, and particularly if the standard of living of Arabs in Palestine, is to be brought near to that of the Jews, it is essential that intensive efforts should be made to improve the quality of Arab engineers and technicians.61 It cannot be said that modern urban education had suffered be­ cause of priority given to rural concerns. Although Bowman and Far­

Interdependence during the War Years

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rell had stressed the agricultural nature of Palestine, their invest­ ment in that area had been even more meager. They had chosen to pursue a long-range plan to achieve universal literacy, and technical as well as academic development had suffered as a result. Under dif­ ferent circumstances these distortions might have been merely tem­ porary and educationally legitimate, but in Palestine they contrib­ uted to the broader problem of contradictory perspectives: where British professionals saw the need for strong foundations, Arab lead­ ers saw the lack of a building process; where the Arab population wanted modern amenities to compensate for foreign government, the British waited for local preparedness to pay. In the villages, the educational program bore little resemblance to Bowman's hopes: The Arab villager is the cream of the population, sturdy and intelligent; when he has the opportunity of obtaining education he often goes far. Many of the best officers in Government are from village families. But so little is done by Government for the villages. . . . If a school is needed, the village has to build it and provide the furniture. Government may or may not contribute but never con­ tributes more than a small amount of the total cost. . . . So many of these fine sturdy people are drafted into the ser­ vices and the police that it is difficult to understand why they remain silent when they know the needs of their people and see how Government provides social services for the towns and ne­ glects the villages.62 When, in response to village enthusiasm and wartime economic shifts, the Department of Education tried to integrate rural educa­ tion into a national framework, it was too late. Although vigorous insistence on educational autonomy by various Arab groups began to have an effect in the formulation of new projects—including the extension of secondary schools, farm schools, etc.—and in the even­ tual willingness to form an Arab Advisory Council of Education, plans for such a council did not materialize until 1947 and never took effect.63 The plans are of interest only as a reflection of certain enduring qualities in the educational policy of Great Britain in Palestine. The lateness of the proposal and its attendant assumption of continuing British control are important indicators of the time lag between the Palestine government's intentions and the forces gathering strength around it. The careful religious distinctions according to which the

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council was to be constituted are additional reminders of the extent to which the government honored social fragmentation. When the British withdrew from Palestine, they left a population that remained largely illiterate. In January 1947, the director of edu­ cation conceded that: "It is difficult to discover at present the per­ centage of illiteracy among the Arabs. It may be stated however that 50 percent of all Arab children now aged 7 to 12 years should be per­ manently illiterate/'64 Among villagers, the percentage was much higher, and for village girls literacy was a rare gift indeed. In 1945 the high commissioner expressed concern that after twenty-five years of British administration in Palestine, only 34 percent of school-age Arab children were attending any school. He noted the sharpening distinctions that were dividing Palestine along new lines: It is impossible to conceive of the development of the country in accordance with democratic principles while so large a part of the children must grow up ignorant of learning other than a smattering of the Kuran by rote. . . . We have unintentionally in the Arab education system perpetuated and to some extent ac­ centuated the inequality between educated and uneducated Arab which existed under the Turks. . . . Apart from this, the Arab population has developed during the war years a far more lively consciousness of its requirements in the way of education. . . . It is impossible to move among the Arab villages in any part of the country without being impressed by the sincerity of the desire of the peasantry that their children shall have fuller opportunity for education. . . . There have al­ ready been numerous indications that the nationalist politicians seek to turn the general impatience at the slow spread of the Arab public schools system to their own profit.65 The British withdrew from Palestine at a moment of transition in the life of the Arab community. They left behind a semieducated populace that had gained somewhat in formal training. Equally im­ portant, however, was their indirect education in shared awareness of the power of government to give or deny and in the importance of modern knowledge for survival. Although only a few could benefit from this exposure under the mandate, the fragile ties thus created within Palestinian Arab society constituted a singularly important, if involuntary, lesson. World War II decisively altered many political relationships in the Middle East. By its end most of the mandated areas were recognized as independent states. The formation of the Arab League in 1945 re­

Interdependence during the War Years

161

fleeted a changed British policy, one that relied on close ties with the new Arab states to ensure British influence in the area. The negation of the Balfour Declaration contained in the White Paper of 1939 formed the basis for postwar plans in Palestine. After 1939 conditions in Palestine favored economic and technical development in Arab areas. Villagers were in a position to take ad­ vantage of the wartime needs for provisions and investment in indus­ try. They often proved eager to provide the means and manpower for rural development, particularly in education. Villagers were also at­ tracted to government positions that promised some social mobility. Immediately after the revolt there was little conflict between the government and the rural population. On the contrary, for the first time under the mandate the need for cooperation was mutual, and the new policy permitted it to develop. This conjunction created the semblance of joint interests—an illusion with dangerous implica­ tions for Palestinians. British administrators had not changed their views as radically as it appeared. They continued to rely on traditional leaders and to re­ strain those who sought more autonomous development in rural areas. As a result, the Arab officials who came out of the revolt with enhanced positions had little power to act effectively for the Arab community. Villagers had now become members of a broader Palestinian so­ ciety organized around the government in Jerusalem. Their improv­ ing material conditions were leading them to demand greater official responsiveness. In the late thirties, the British administration had stressed the obligation to respect state power; now the Palestinian population responded with a claim on public responsibility. The younger generation of Palestinian villagers, raised under the mandate, was divided. While many continued to respect family and religious tradition, they and others were also prepared to accept the advantages of modern technology and a strong state system. Those who traveled throughout the country, who worked in the cities, who went to schools or found employment in the government, all had be­ gun to develop a stake in the continuation of a specifically Palestin­ ian Arab political system. Yet there was no leadership equipped to express this sentiment forcefully and effectively. Those who spoke for nationalism rarely spoke to the realities of village society in transition. While they evoked the claims of cultural integrity, they denied the reality of so­ cial and economic division. The policies of the mandatory government had repeatedly rein­ forced Palestinian Arab division. They had also discouraged the de­

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velopment of an articulate modern leadership and political ideology. Only indirectly and of necessity did the British educate a small stra­ tum of Palestinians with technical knowledge to serve the state. This group was part of a larger body of professionals who understood the importance of specific skills and, sometimes, could use their knowledge to communal advantage. After the White Paper of 1939, Palestinians could hope that the gap between state and nation might be bridged in peace. When it be­ came clear that this would not happen, villagers found themselves in a perilous position. Their stake in Palestine had become even greater under the mandate, but their capacity to defend themselves was un­ dermined by the same process that had strengthened that claim. As villagers had sought to solidify their ties with other Palestinian Arabs, they had had to leave a familiar world to begin building a new community. In the effort to strengthen their resources for survival, they inevitably turned to the Palestine government as the most powerful apparent source of help and order. In the forties, they dis­ covered that this expectation of official help, born under the man­ date, was another of its illusions.

Conclusion

Palestinian Arab villagers acquired their specific national identifica­ tion under the mandate. Between 1920 and 1948 they remained a dis­ tinct social group and were never fully identified with the interests or concerns of the urban population, which furnished political lead­ ership to the nationalist movement. Instead, villagers entered the pe­ riod with a largely passive orientation toward both official and na­ tionalist action. Yet in the course of the mandate, more and more villagers were forced to act in their own interests and to assert their own understanding of what it meant to be a Palestinian Arab. Throughout the period, the world of Palestinian villagers was changing in concrete ways. Some left their land or were removed from it. Others migrated for seasonal employment or permanently. All over the country, villagers experienced the effects of rapid popu­ lation increase and added pressure on existing resources. Such material changes generated new social and economic divi­ sions. After World War I, traditional family and community relation­ ships could not protect Palestinian Arabs against internal division and external challenge. The nationalist movement itself was frag­ mented, not least over the question of how to deal with the British authorities. Under these circumstances, the presence of a Palestine govern­ ment viewed as responsible for, but not identical with, Zionism of­ fered a number of tantalizing possibilities. First of all, the develop­ ment of a public sector created the hope of jobs and employment. This was important from the beginning, and as the mandate wore on villagers were increasingly attracted by government service. Second, the government generated expectations for direct services such as education, health, roads, and economic aid to supplement and re­ place private efforts. Finally, the existence of a Palestinian adminis­ trative and political entity became the only potential substitute for both empire and community—one of them gone, the other rapidly losing its functions.

164

Conclusion

As a symbol of independence and power, the Palestine government became a focus of competition with the Jewish population, which was able to build an alternative communal structure while continu­ ing to assert its claims to government support. Palestinian Arabs were not in a position to create such alternative institutions. They therefore had to capture or succeed the existing government in order to attain sovereignty. Success depended upon the ability to use their assets, including the fact that they were a majority of the Palestinian population. This ability was substantially impaired by policies fol­ lowed by the government during the mandate. The British administration used its position to try to control and limit changes in the Arab countryside. Such control was exerted with the intention of protecting a traditional native community. The actual result was to deepen the conflicts experienced by villagers, who felt torn between an emerging modern, technically effective sector and a familiar, apparently secure but often oppressive tradi­ tional world. On the whole, British authorities did not intervene directly in the countryside. Instead, they pursued two mutually conflicting poli­ cies. They were responsible for the intensification of Zionist settle­ ment and thus of modern agricultural enterprise. At the same time, they denied that there was any necessary connection between sup­ port for the terms of the mandate and the transformation of Arab vil­ lage life. On the contrary, they went out of their way repeatedly to assert a commitment to the maintainance of rural society. Osten­ sibly, therefore, the efforts to incorporate Palestinian Arabs into gov­ ernment service and to regularize official contact with villagers were designed to bolster popular cooperation by reinforcing existing com­ munal patterns of authority. In fact, the creation of a civil service divided Palestinians more than ever. While most of the educated upper and middle classes were nationalist in sympathy, their practical understanding of what na­ tionalism meant or should mean varied according to experience and interest. Individual Arabs who chose to work for the Palestine gov­ ernment inevitably formed a new, alternative source of authority rather than an extension of the existing order. This development was not a product of British policy nor was it subject to the wills of those involved. The fact of working within the government and accepting British norms of public behavior gradually but decisively differenti­ ated Arab officials from those communal leaders who continued to operate on the basis of family or religious loyalties. Under other circumstances, the development of an independent nation-state would have entailed a transfer of effective authority over

Conclusion

165

the community from private "notable" hands to this public bureau­ cracy. At best this would have required time and generational change. An effective nationalist movement might have served as a vehicle for accomplishing this task by "capturing" the state for the nation. In Palestine, this process was impeded both by the stronger organiza­ tional structure created by the Yishuv and by the way in which the British administration chose to implement its mandate. Overall, the Palestine government subverted the traditional auton­ omy of villagers without generating the skills necessary to compete in a modern world. As a result, the government's actions encouraged a growing dependence on public aid, which bred needs that could not be fulfilled and frustrations that could not be appeased. Arab offi­ cials who represented the government in the villages were the focus of hope as well as disappointment. In the twenties there were only a small number of Arab local officials and these few were not represen­ tative of the general population. They acted as they would have under the Ottomans to implement governmental authority in the coun­ tryside in exchange for recognition of their own status. At the time there was little difference between nationalist leaders and the repre­ sentatives of notable families who sought government jobs; the pri­ mary divisions in Palestine were social and economic, not ideologi­ cal or political. By the forties the situation was quite different. The revolt of x936-39 reflected simultaneous but conflicting processes. Palestin­ ian Arabs of all backgrounds and regions were developing national awareness. Confrontation with the Zionist movement, reinforced by the territorial definition of the mandate, created a common self­ definition as Palestinians. The nationalist movement attracted vil­ lagers as well as urban youth, women as well as men, Christians as well as Muslims. At the same time, the factors that produced nationalist unity also gave rise to new causes of division. Zionism helped stimulate a com­ mon Palestinian Arab response, but Jewish land purchase benefited some and dispossessed others. Similarly, British control over a clearly defined area created a common historical experience; yet the creation of a public sector, along with policies designed to empha­ size religious and regional differences, ensured that understanding of that experience would not be uniform. It is for this reason that British control over Arab education and especially village education was so crucial. As experience was in­ creasingly divorced from tradition, Palestinians required a new idiom in which to express themselves. Individual villagers who encoun­ tered strangers had to develop some explanation of what these strang­

166

Conclusion

ers were doing in their environment. When villagers moved to the cities, they had to find a way of negotiating a world in which their established assumptions were not necessarily shared. Beyond indi­ viduals, the Palestinian Arab community as a whole entered into a period in which national identity was replacing both religion and imperial identification as a primary political category. This was a transition that took place in response to the mandate and its condi­ tions. Yet British administrators of education were deeply reluctant to permit these changes to be openly expressed and articulated. Their insistence on minimal verbal skills, religious practice, and ag­ ricultural training all impeded recognition of the changes that were felt but rarely expressed in clear terms. The anger and frustration created by this gap helped turn villagers to violent but often disor­ ganized actions. During the twenties the task of explaining the mandate and its im­ plications was left to the traditional leadership of the nationalist movement. By the early thirties villagers were coming to experience the impact of Jewish presence and British government in more com­ plex ways. As the Palestine government became more directly in­ volved with rural administration and services, it attracted partici­ pants from all levels of Arab society, mirroring its hierarchy of social divisions. These Arab officials began to publicize their concern for the village population and to seek rural acquiescence in their work. Although they acted on behalf of the British authorities, Arab ad­ ministrators and teachers brought a new dimension to the villages. They themselves exemplified the opportunities of working within a modern government bureaucracy, but they often carried a policy de­ signed to prevent mobility and reinforce traditional norms. The re­ sulting confusion helped to impede village development until World War II. When villagers suddenly experienced considerable improvement in their economic situation during the war, they found it easier to adopt a more positive relationship with the administration. Thus Palestinian national identification was strengthened by the conjunc­ tion of interests between the Palestine government and the rural population. The government was no longer committed to limiting Arab aspirations, while under such circumstances villagers more readily sought official aid for their own projects. Among these efforts, the drive to expand education was by far the most important as a ve­ hicle for producing individuals able to use the new situation in their own interest. The end of the mandate precluded any decisive success in this area. The division between villagers and urban Palestinians was never

Conclusion

167

fully overcome under the mandate. Individuals from all parts of the country and all classes were drawn into the government, but they never formed a coherent body. Instead, public officials embodied an ongoing conflict between personal and impersonal forms of author­ ity. They formed a new group with the potential for linking all sec­ tors of Palestinian society, but that potential could never be fulfilled. By 1948 time had run out for Palestinian villagers. In the confu­ sion of a postwar period marked by European domination (hidden under the rhetoric of self-determination), Zionists and Arab nation­ alists had quickly understood that every year altered the reality that confronted them. Their reactions to those changes, their decisions whether to accept or resist them, and their visions of the future di­ vided them irrevocably. It was this division and its consequences that ultimately helped to determine the fate of Palestinian villagers. For thirty years Arabs and Jews believed that Great Britain was the court of last resort. They fought one another in an arena built by the British in order to win the support of the British for the next round. For the first half of the mandate, they viewed those who governed them as outsiders who could help or hinder them in reaching their goals. By the thirties Palestinians began to attack the British directly. First Arabs, then Jews mounted communal campaigns against the mandatory authorities. In February 1947 Great Britain asked the United Nations to pro­ pose a solution to the Palestine problem. British frustration and an­ ger with the final plan for partition were evident in their failure to participate in its implementation. In May 1948 the British left Pal­ estine to the first of many Arab-Israeli wars. Palestine as a political entity disappeared; in its place stood the two states of Jordan and Is­ rael. Palestinian Arabs were physically divided by the war, and the area allocated to them by the partition plan was absorbed by Jordan as well as Israel. The story of the Palestine mandate invites judgment. The pain of refugees—whether Arab or Jewish—seems to demand punishment of those responsible. The humiliation of powerlessness feeds fan­ tasies of omnipotence, of absolute justice to right profound wrongs. Palestinian Arabs blame Israelis for having displaced them and taken their land. Israelis speak of Jewish suffering and the right to a land of their own. Both hold the British responsible for betrayal under the mandate. The problem with this perspective is that each party implicitly as­ sumes that outsiders must choose between them. In fact, as this study has tried to show, Great Britain did not act for or against Arabs

168

Conclusion

or Jews. The role of the British in Palestine was not simply political nor was it that of disinterested mediator. It was the role of a world power seeking to ensure its interests in the region. Once in Palestine and involved in daily decision making, represen­ tatives of Great Britain became involved in difficulties they had not foreseen. The dynamic of government was responsive to problems, not individuals. British administrators formulated policies and failed to see that as they did so, they became identified as part of the problem. Nationalism itself is neither an excuse nor an explanation for be­ havior. It is a historical product and must itself be rooted in a par­ ticular context. In Palestine that context was the British mandate in which Arab and Jewish nationalisms were transformed from the ideals of a few to substantial political movements. The ultimate goal of each movement was the creation of an independent nation-state under its own control. Neither Arabs nor Jews had controlled states for centuries. Both had existed as cultural communities with signifi­ cant internal differences. To separate the development of their na­ tionalist movements from their experience with an effective state power in Palestine is to accept the uniqueness that each attributes to itself. What was really at stake in Palestine was the continued existence of communal culture in the framework of a nation-state. Beyond the conflict between two nationalist movements, and contributing to its outcome, was the unarticulated solidarity of a group whose major weapon was defiance of disaster, along with the dedication to life re­ gardless of what it brought. It was only when this solidarity of cul­ tural identity began to crack and when individual choices led to the assimilation of new alternatives, that modern nationalist ideology could begin to awaken a popular echo. From the evidence of growing interaction between state and vil­ lagers we may conclude that this transition from the acceptance of established forms to the search for new norms was occurring in the rural population. The Arab villagers who in 1920 found themselves in a country called Palestine were still living largely by a natural clock, rather than by the relentless thrust forward of modern time. Their relationship to life was neither active nor passive, but was predicated on the search for harmony with irrevocable conditions. The idea of interfering with the boundaries that mark life as a pas­ sage was as alien to them as the notion that land is separable from people. The concepts of change and continuity become meaningful as they relate to these perceptions of time, for the significance of change depends upon subjective criteria. In the two societies that in­

Conclusion

169

habited Palestine, time and change were oriented by divergent refer­ ence points. To a Zionist observer it seemed therefore that, the masses of Arab fellaheen failed to develop a specific and independent political consciousness of their own and continued to be dominated by conservative sheikhs, nationalist agitators, and religious fanat­ ics—by all those who feared the modernization, secularism and social freedom which accompanied Jewish immigration to Palestine.1 This observation, which reflects the gap in viewpoints, assumes the benefits of modernity and denies its costs; but it also underestimates the subtlety of awareness that grew within the Palestinian Arab com­ munity and was protected by a layer of apparently total resistance. Villagers in Palestine were subject to more disparate forces, both positive and negative, than were their counterparts in Syria, Iraq, or Egypt at this time. Jewish settlers bought their land and then sought to live peacefully but separately with them, Arab nationalists worked to gain their support, and the Palestine government tried to win a measure of their approval by instituting limited measures of aid in the countryside. The internal development of the village community did not con­ form wholly to any of these expectations, however, because each of them was, in its own way, too general. The villagers, who retained their own sense of proportion throughout most of the mandate, re­ sponded not to abstract appeals but to concrete events and actions. Nevertheless, the accumulation and increased density of particular changes ultimately had their effect. The results were not uniform, and it was the differentiation, as well as the actual changes, in village existence that determined the condition of rural Palestine in 1948. Many villagers remained rela­ tively isolated and lived within circumscribed limits of interest, as in Micilya: 'The Micilyan's world was his village—the land and the people. Matters of national or even regional politics were the con­ cern of one or two people in the village/72 Yet even where migration was rare and external politics removed, other changes such as land settlement and partition could occur. The villages near the coast or in proximity to major cities, in particular, could not escape the im­ pact of a changing economy and with it the need to decide on a mode of response. The same process was also manifest in the broader social and eco­ nomic concerns of the Palestinian Arab intellectual and political

170

Conclusion

leadership. The plans of Musa Alami and Hajj Ibrahim ar-Rashid, formulated in 1946, were far more cognizant of the need to support village agricultural viability than were the polemics of the early thir­ ties, despite the establishment of a National Fund at that time. The publication of a society for village reform in 1946 also includes a strong argument for the strengthening of individualism, as well as nationalism, and decries factionalism as the source of village weak­ ness. These discussions, however, together with the formulation of British plans for postwar reconstruction in rural Palestine came too late to be effective. They presumed possibilities for evolution that were never to exist. The division of Palestine in 1948 put an abrupt end to a very grad­ ual process; it is impossible to speculate on what might have been. Throughout the mandate Arab villagers had sought to satisfy their own needs and to deal with a multitude of external demands. Yet at the moment of truth in 1948 it became apparent that the struggle to cope had obscured the effort to control personal destiny. Centuries of fragmentation and communal survival at the expense of external po­ litical control had established patterns that could not easily be al­ tered. The villagers7 ambivalence toward landowning and notable leadership was echoed in the Palestinian nationalists' vacillation be­ tween self-reliance and dependence upon others. In a situation that was cut off before these problems could be resolved successfully, this lack of clarity proved crucial. The history of the Palestinian Arab community under the man­ date is one of search in all dimensions, of the attempt to preserve cultural integrity while absorbing new situations, of the need to bal­ ance new ideas with old values. It is a record of success as well as defeat, gains as well as losses. Above all, it is the story of a village society whose unbending truths would not give way to instrumental values without pain. The tragedy of Palestine grew out of a struggle between two peoples, each desperate to survive and each unable to comprehend the apoca­ lyptic view of the other. The British who controlled their destinies for a time were too steeped in the pragmatism and relativism of West­ ern security to do more than provide an outer limit for the conflict. When it finally exploded, one side won and the other lost the battle. Yet, until the rich reality of the years between 1920 and 1948 re­ places the poverty of postwar mythology in the consciousness of both peoples, no side will have genuinely won and no dialogue based on the acceptance of a common history will emerge.

Notes

Abbreviations Ag. Asst. cab

co Col. Secy. C.S. cza

D.C. Dep. Dept, of Educ. D.G. D.I.E. Dir. of Educ. D.O. H.C. is a m ec

p ro

Acting Assistant Cabinet Colonial Office Secretary of State for the Colonies Chief Secretary Central Zionist Archives, Jerusalem District Commissioner Deputy Department of Education District Governor District Inspector of Education Director of Education District Officer High Commissioner Israel State Archives, Jerusalem Middle East Centre (St. Antony's College, Oxford) Public Record Office, London

1. The Palestine Mandate, 1918- 1948: A Political Overview 1. 'T h e Mandate For Palestine/' in J. C. Hurewitz, Diplomacy in the Near and M iddle East, vol. 2, (Princeton, N.J.: D. Van Nostrand Company, 1956), pp. 10 6 -10 . 2. Ibid., p. 26. 3. On the background to the civil administration, see Bernard Wasser-

172

Notes to Pages 5-15

stein, The British in Palestine: The Mandatory Government and the A rabJewish Conflict, 1 9 1 J - 1 9 2 9 (London: The Royal Historical Society, 1978), chaps. 1 - 3 . 4. Hurewitz, Diplomacy, pp. 10 6 -10 .

5. Ibid., pp. 103-5. 6. Fuller discussion of this policy may be found in Wasserstein, British in Palestine. 7. A summary description of this period can be found in J. C. Hurewitz, The Struggle for Palestine (New York: Schocken Books, 1976), chaps. 2 and 3. 8. Neil Caplan, Palestine Jewry and the Arab Question 19 1 7 - 1 9 2 5 (London: Frank Cass, 1978), pp. 2 -7 . 9. Y. Porath, The Palestinian Arab National Movement 19 2 9 -19 3 9 (London: Frank Cass, 1977), p. 84. 10. On land transfer, see Kenneth Stein, The Land Question in Palestine (Chapel Hill: Univ. of North Carolina Press, 1984). 1 1 . Kenneth Stein, "Legal Protection and Circumvention of Rights for Cultivators in Mandatory Palestine" in Joel Migdal, ed., Palestinian Society and Politics (Princeton: Princeton Univ. Press, 1980), pp. 233-6 0. 12. Y. Porath, "A l Hajj Amin al-Huseyni, Mufti of Jerusalem," Asian and African Studies 7 (1971): 12 1- 5 6 . 13. Great Britain. Parliamentary Papers. Cmd. 3530. Report of the Com ­ mission on the Palestinian Disturbances of August, 1929 (The Shaw Com­ mission Report). London, 1930. 14. Great Britain. Parliamentary Papers. Cmd. 3683-3687. Report on Im ­ migration, Land Settlement and Development by Sir John Hope Simpson. London, 1930. Great Britain. Parliamentary Papers. Cmd. 3692. Statement of Policy Presented by the Secretary of State for the Colonies to Parliament (Passfield), London, 1930. 15. Porath, The Palestinian Arab National Movement, chap. 5. 16. Ibid. 17. On the revolt, see Porath, The Palestinian Arab National Movement, chaps. 6 through 9, and Subhi al-Yasin, Al-Thawrah al-Arabiyyah al Kubra fi Filastin, 19 3 6 -19 3 9 (The Great Arab Revolt in Palestine) (Cairo, 1967). 18. Great Britain, Colonial Office. Cmd. 5479. Palestine Royal Com m is­ sion Report (Peel Commission Report), London, 1937. 19. Great Britain. Parliamentary Papers. Cmd. 6019. Statement of Policy Presented by the Secretary of State for the Colonies to Parliament (White Paper of May 17, 1939), London, 1939. 20. Rachelle Taqqu, 'Arab Labor in Mandatory Palestine77 Ph.D. disserta­ tion, Columbia University, 1977; Y. Porath, "Usbat al-Taharrur al-Watani, 19 4 3 -4 8 .77 Asian and African Studies IV (1968): 1 - 2 1 . 2 1. On this period in Zionist history, see Yehuda Bauer, From Diplomacy to Resistance (New York: Atheneum Press, 1973).

Notes to Pages 18-21

173

2. Nationalism and Village Society 1 . A wealth of material on the Arab nationalist movement in Palestine has appeared in recent years. Among the most recent works based on archi­ val sources are those by Y. Porath, The Emergence of the Palestinian Arab National Movement, 19 18 -19 2 9 (London: Frank Cass, 1974) and The Pal­ estinian Arab National Movement, 19 2 9 -19 3 9 (London: Frank Cass, 1977); and A .M . Lesch, Arab Politics in Palestine 19 17 - 19 3 9 (Ithaca: Cornell Univ. Press, 1980). 2. C. S. to Secretary, Executive Committee of the Palestine Arab Con­ gress, March 1923. i s a 2/159. In the same file may be found the prospectus for an "Arab Economical Development Society." 3. The program is to be found in i s a 65/398. The memorandum from the Executive Committee of the Village Congress, which met in Jaffa on Novem­ ber 5 -6 , 1929, was forwarded to the C. S. by the D. C., Southern District, on Nov. 29, 1929. i s a Land Dept. M3880/2. 4. Young Men's Muslim Associations were established in various towns beginning in 1928. The first Arab Women's Congress was held in 1929 and thereafter women's groups submitted memoranda to the government at vari­ ous times of crisis. Political parties, starting with Istiqlal, came into being between 1932 and 1934. For details, see Y. Porath, The Palestinian Arab N a­ tional Movement, 19 2 9 -19 3 9 , chap. 3; Matiel Mogannam, The Arab Woman and the Palestine Problem (London: Herbert Joseph, 1937), chaps. 3 and 4. Documents emanating from the various congresses and meetings may be found in Abd al-Wahhab al-Kayyali, ed., Watha’iq al-Muqawamah al-Filastinniyyah didda al-Ihtilal al-Britani wa-al-Sahyuniyyah, 19 18 -19 3 9 . 5. Political literature written by Palestinian Arabs under the mandate was usually published in the form of articles. There were a few books deal­ ing with the Palestine case published in Palestine at the time; for example: S. Bsisu, Al-Sahyuniyyah; naqd wa tahlil (Jerusalem, 1945); I. al-Sifri, Filastin al-Arabiyyah bayn al-Intidab wa-al-Sahyuniyyah (Jaffa, 1937); Y. Haikal, Al-Q adiyyah al-Filastiniyyah and Nahwa al-Wahdah al-cArabiyyah (Jaffa, 1943); Mogannam, The Arab Woman and the Palestine Problem. A l­ though published in Beirut, N. Bay tar, Al-Qadiyyah al-Filastiniayyah (Bei­ rut, 1945), makes a similar case. For a more general discussion of Palestine in the context of the Arab movement, see M. Darwazah, Hawl al-Harakat al-Arabiyyah al-Hadithah, vols. 3 and 4, (Sidon, 19 49 -51). 6. Haikal, Al-Qadiyyah. Great Britain, Cmd. 1700, Statement of British Policy (Churchill Memorandum) on Palestine, July 1, 1922. 7. Haikal, Al-Q adiyyah, p. 185. 8. On these writers, see note 5 above. 9. Palestine Government, A Survey of Palestine: Prepared in December, 1945 and January, 1946 for the Information of the Anglo-American Com ­ mittee of Inquiry (Jerusalem, 1946), vol. I, pp. 157 and 697. Censuses were carried out in 1922 and 19 31. Other sources for population data are the publi­ cations of the Palestine Government, Department of Statistics, particularly

174

Notes to Pages 21-33

the Monthly Bulletin of Statistics. The difficulties of defining urban-rural categories and the imprecision of estimates made after 19 31 are discussed in the Survey, vol. I, chap. 6. An occupational breakdown enables one to define the agricultural sector more exactly. See S. Himadeh, Economic Organiza­ tion of Palestine (Beirut: The American Press, 1938), pp. 3 1-3 6 . 10. Lewis French was appointed director of development for Palestine on June 26, 19 31. Despite the title, his primary task during his year and a half in office was to determine how many Arabs had been displaced from their land without finding a substitute source of livelihood. Lewis French, The Report on Agricultural Development and Land Settlement (Jerusalem, 1931). Cited here from p r o co 733/214/97409/91-92. Often land was accu­ mulated by Arabs as an intermediary stage before they sold it to Jews, but this does not explain all such transfers. For general discussions of landownership, see Y. Shimoni, Aravei Eretz Israel (Jerusalem, 1947), chap. 9; and A. Granott, The Land System in Palestine (London: Eyre and Spottiswood, 1952). 1 1 . Mogannam, The Arab Woman and the Palestine Problem, p. 210; see also, al-Sifri, Filastin al-Arabiyyah, p. 177. 12. Testimony of Jamal Bey al-Husayni. Great Britain Palestine Royal Commission. Minutes of Evidence Heard at Public Sessions (London, 1937), p. 324. Jamal Bey al-Husayni was secretary of the Arab Executive from its inception in 1920. After 1935 he served as president of the Palestine Arab Party. As a cousin and close political ally of the Mufti, Haj Amin al-Husayni, Jamal Bey played a very important role in the political life of Palestine. 13. Ibid., p. 364. George Antonius served as assistant director of educa­ tion from 19 21 to 1925; thereafter he served the Palestine government pri­ marily in other areas, such as the negotiations with Ibn Saud. He retired from government service in 1929 after a bitter conflict with the administra­ tion over the position he should fill. 14. On the beginnings of class differentiation in the villages, see Shimoni, Aravei Eretz Israel, chap. 9; and A. Cohen, Arab Border Villages in Israel (Manchester: Manchester Univ. Press, 1965), chap. 1. 15. Ibid. 16. M. al-Husayni, Al-Tatawwur al-Ijtim a’i wal-Iqtisadi (Jaffa, 1946). 17. Royal Institute of International Affairs, Great Britain and Palestine, 1 9 1 5 - 1 9 3 6 (London, 1937), p. 34. 18. The Arab Office, The Future of Palestine (London, 1947), p. 30.

3. The Formation of a Government 1. J. Metzer, "Economic Structure and National Goals— The Jewish N a­ tional Home in Interwar Palestine," Journal of Economic History 38, no. 1 (March 1978): 1 0 1 - 1 9 . 2. Hurewitz, Diplomacy, pp. 1 0 7 - 1 1 . 3. For detailed discussions of Palestine and Syrian administration in the nineteenth century, see M. Maoz, Ottoman Reform in Syria and Palestine, 18 4 0 - 18 6 1 (Oxford: Oxford Univ. Press, 1968); and S. Shamir, "The Mod­

Notes to Pages 33-37

175

ernization of Syria: Problems and Solutions in the Early Period of Abdulham id," in W. R. Polk and R. L. Chambers, Beginnings of Modernization in the M iddle East (Chicago: Univ. of Chicago Press, 1968), pp. 3 5 1-8 2 . A. Hourani, Arabic Thought in the Liberal Age (London: Oxford Univ. Press, 1962) and G. Antonius, The Arab Awakening (New York: Capricorn, 1946) deal with the growth of Arab nationalism. 4. The British commitment to preserve a modified m illet system is indi­ cated in R. Storrs, Orientations (London: Nicholson and Watson, 1943), p. 422, and criticized by Horace Samuel, Unholy Memories of the Holy Land (London: The Hogarth Press, 1930), pp. 139-40. 5. "Provisional Law for the General Administration of Wilayets" in Iraq. Ministry of Justice. Translation of the Ottoman Laws. Baghdad, 19 21. S. H. Perowne, "Brief Note on the Administration of Palestine before the British Occupation," Aug. 2, 1932. p r o c o 733/227/97462/3-8. E. Mills, "An En­ quiry into Municipal Government in Palestine" Dec. 16, 1926. p r o c o 733/134/44124/6-69. On the political role of notables, see A. Hourani, "Politics of Notables," in A Vision of History (Beirut, 1961); and M. Maoz, Ottoman Reform. 6. This accusation was made regularly; for a few examples, see: Pal­ estine Arab Congress, Executive Committee, Report on the State of Pal­ estine (Jerusalem, 1924), pp. 4 -6 ; E. Ghoury, "An Arab View of the Palestine Situation," in International Affairs (1936): 688-89; Omar Bey al-Barguti, "Local Self-Government—Past and Present," and Jamal Bey al-Husayni, "The Proposed Palestine Constitution," in H. Viteles and K. Totah, eds., Palestine, a Decade of Development. Annals of the American Academ y of Political and Social Science (Philadelphia, November 1932), pp. 34 -3 8 and 2 2 -2 6 , respectively; N. Baytar, Qadiyyat al-Arabiyyah al-Filastiniyyah (Beirut, 1945), p. 86. 7. For a description of Ottoman institutions in the nineteenth century, see B. Lewis, The Emergence of Modern Turkey (London, 1961), chap. 4. 8. Porath, The Emergence of the Palestinian Arab Nationalist M ove­ ment, chap. 3. 9. On the failure to make Palestinian citizenship more than a legal for­ mula, see the Royal (Peel) Commission report, p. 120. Al-Sifri, Filastin alArabiyyah, p. 174, accused the British of wanting to do the impossible by fusing two nationalities to make "a new race which is the Palestinian race." Criticisms of British tendencies to isolate the two populations from one an­ other were voiced in the Permanent Mandates Commission, Proceedings, Twenty-fifth Session (May 3 0 - June 12, 1934), pp. 2 0 - 2 1. 10. D.G., Samaria, to Civil Secretary, Oct. 7, 1920. i s a 2/63. 1 1 . H.C. to Col. Secy., April 27, 1923. p r o c o 733/44/307. 12. Figures on the proportion of Christians to Muslims in district admin­ istration are available in p r o c o 733/93/ 4^5 - On the proportion of Palestin­ ians throughout the administration, see PMC, Proceedings, Fifth (Extraordi­ nary) Session (Oct. 2 3—Nov. 6, 192,4), p. 59; and ESCO Foundation for Palestine, Palestine: A Study of Jewish, Arab and British Policies (New Haven: Yale Univ. Press, 1947), PP- 3 OI~ 2-

176

Notes to Pages 3 7 -4 4

13. D.G., Northern District, to C.S., Feb. 2 1,19 2 3 . p r o c o 733/44/309- i i . 14. H.C. to Col. Secy., April 27, 1923. p r o c o 733/44/307. 15. p r o co 733/44/Govt. Minutes. 16. The political implication of religious, rather than national, communalism was that nationalist Christian Arabs often had to act under Mus­ lim religious leadership. For an analysis of this relationship, see Hurewitz, Struggle, pp. 5 1- 5 5 , and Porath, Emergence, chap. 4. 17. Meeting Held at the Government House, Dec. 17, 1923. i s a 2/132. The commission's membership was later altered but R. Storrs remained chairman. Other participants included E. Mills, S. Moody, R. Drayton, G. Antonius, N. Bentwich, M. F. Abcarius, and A. Kirkbride. 18. Ibid. 19. Minutes of the commission's meetings are preserved in i s a 2/133. Forty-four meetings were held from Jan. 19, 1924, to Jan. 6, 1925. 20. "Local Government Commission Report," Feb. 24, 1925. i s a 2/133. A preliminary report had been issued on June 2, 1924, and a first draft on Dec. 1 1 , 1924; these may be found in i s a 2/132 and i s a 65/86. 21. G. Antonius, "Note on the Organization of the Local Government Councils for Services Other than Education," May 19, 1924. i s a 2/134. 22. "Second Report," Local Government Commission, i s a 2/135. 23. "Provisional Primary School Law," Sept. 23, 1329 (1913). i s a 2/132. 24. Antonius was the only Palestinian on the commission, and other members turned to him for information on how the Arab community would respond to particular points. See, for example, the minutes of the thirtyseventh meeting, Dec. 8 , 1924. i s a 2/133. At the same time, however, he rep­ resented the Department of Education; his sensitivity to the preference of teachers for serving as government officials rather than under local authori­ ties led him to argue for central control over appointments and dismissals. In this matter, he showed greater suspicion of local authorities than did ei­ ther Bentwich or Abcarius. 25. S. Moody to Chairman, Local Government Commission, Feb. 25, 1925. i s a 2/135. 26. D.G., Northern District, to C.S., March 27, 1925. i s a 2/135. 27. J. Farrell, "Memorandum on the Reports of the Local Government Commission," no date, i s a 2/135. On Bowman's reaction, see also, F. Kisch, Palestine Diary (London, 1938), pp. 207-8. 28. D.G., Southern District, to C.S., May 1, 1925. i s a 65/86. A response to these criticisms was submitted by the commission's chairman, R. Storrs; see i s a 2/135. 29. i s a 65/86. 30. Lord Plumer succeeded Herbert Samuel as high commissioner in 1925. For his opinions on establishing representative institutions, see p r o CAB 24/211/108. 31. For a straightforward assertion of British imperial interests and their impact on Palestine, see Ormsby-Gore to MacMichael (private letter), Dec. 15, 1937. m e c , St. Antony's College, Oxford. 32. Minutes, n t h Meeting of Advisory Council, Sept. 27, 19 21. p r o c o

Notes to Pages 44-51

177

733/8/243. See also the dispatch from Keith-Roach for the H.C. to Col. Secy., Feb. 14, 19 21, in which various proposals for achieving balanced representa­ tion are discussed. 33. Draft Telegram, Col. Secy, to H.C., March 7, 1925. p r o c o 733/87/17. For an earlier veto on the high commissioner's proposal to hold elections, see Col. Secy, to H.C., April 17, 1924. p r o c o 733/52 Dispatch No. 612. 34. H.C. to Col. Secy., March 24, 19 26 . p r o c o 7 3 3 / 1 1 3 / 3 9 5 . 35. H.C. to Col. Secy., August 24, 1926. p r o c o 733/116/221. A summary of the ordinance may be found in the Royal (Peel) Commission report, p. 259. 36. "Meeting with the Executive of the Arab Congress in the High Com­ missioner's office," Jan. 3, 1929. Among those present were both Christians and Muslims. Participants included the high commissioner, the chief secre­ tary, and Musa Kazem Pasha al-Husayni. A similar meeting in which local government was an important issue had taken place when H. Samuel granted an interview to M. Kazem Pasha al-Husayni, Jamal al-Husayni, and Khalil Sakakini on Sept. 25, 1924. i s a 2/132.

4 . The Formation of a Public Service: Links to the Villages 1. For a discussion of plans for a legislative council, see Porath, Emer­ gence, pp. 14 3 -5 8 . 2. Government Minutes, Oct. 4, 1923. p r o c o 733/50/3. 3. A detailed list of district commissioners' and district officers' respon­ sibilities is contained in i s a 27-2630/G367. For a summary of the general role played by these officials, see the O'Donnell Commission Report. D is­ trict Administration, p r o c o 733/209/87363/96-99. 4. Government Minutes, March 29, 1924. p r o c o 733/66/128-29. 5. Palestine Government. Civil Service Lists (Jerusalem, 19 31, 1933, 1937, and 1939). Also, H.C. to Col. Secy. April 27, 1923. p r o c o 733/44/ 306-8. Annual Report to League of Nations, 1924, in H.C. to Col. Secy., June 5, 1925. p r o co 733/93/485. 6. Correspondence of administration officials with various Arab repre­ sentatives on the subject is contained in i s a 4 K/186/31. See also, Al-Jamia al-Arabia, Sept. 25 and 29,1932. In 1938 eight out of eighteen district officers were non-Muslim. Palestine Government, Civil Service List, 1939. 7. H.C. to Col. Secy., Nov. 25, 1930. p r o c o 733/194/77399/28-41. 8. O'Donnell Report, p r o c o 733/209/87363/96. 9. D.C., Southern District, to Ag. C.S., Oct. 19 31. p r o c o 733/209/ 89363(11/33-35. See also, Government Minutes, p r o c o 7 33 /i 94 /7 7 3 9 9 - Ag. D.C., Northern District, to C.S., Sept. 15 ,19 3 1. p r o c o 733/209/89363(11/69. 10. H.C. to Col. Secy., Jan. 1, 1933. p r o c o 733/240/57363/44. 1 1 . H.C. to Col. Secy., Aug. 11 , 1933. p r o c o 733/240/57363/17-18. 12. H.C. to Col. Secy., Nov. 10, 1933. p r o c o 733/^39/17356 (Part 2)/6o. 13. See the diary of Aref el-Aref, m e c . For other difficulties faced by Arabs in high government positions under the mandate, see the Antonius collec­ tion in i s a and G. Furlonge, Palestine Is My Country (London: John Murray, 1969).

178

Notes to Pages 52-60

14. For an example of differences within the Muslim community, see D.G. to C.S., Dec. 12, 1922. i s a m g 16 1 U/2144/34. 15. i s a m g 103 U/207/31 and 3920/5 II. 16. For examples of the interlocking relationships between district officers and notable families, see pro "Arab Who's Who"; i s a 65/2216; and c z a S25/3289. 1 7. ISA MG l6 l U/2144/34. 18. ISA MG 4 3 9 U / 1 3 3 2 / 3 I .

19. ISA MG l6 l U/2144/34. 20. ISA MG 103 U/207/3I. 2 1 . ISA MG 1 0 3 U /2 I O /3 I .

22. Palestine Government, Civil Service List, 1938. 23. D.C., Jerusalem, to C.S., March 19, 1937, on meeting of district com­ missioners. i s a 27-2630/G367. 24. Interview granted by A.C.S. to Flanna Eff. Boulos, D.O., Tiberias, on Dec. 24, 1936. i s a m g 3920/5. 25. Sixty-five mukhtars and other notables, Safad Subdistrict, to H.C., Nov. 3, 1936. i s a 27-2612/G62. 26. i s a 4 Y / i 50/37. See also, Palestine Government, Report of the Com ­ m ittee on Village Administration and Responsibility (Jerusalem, 1941), pp. 1 5 - 1 7 (hereafter Bailey Committee Report). 27. B ailey Committee Report, pp. 6 -7 . 28. Muslim Christian Society, Jerusalem, to Executive Committee of Pal­ estine Arab Congress, August 1924; see also, Jamal al-Husayni to H.C., Sept. 1924. Both in i s a 65/01536. 29. Notables, Na'dhar, to D.C., Northern District, May 3, 1935. i s a 27-2686/T7. 30. D.O., Safad, to D.C., Northern District, Feb. 2, 1932. i s a 27-2679/S27. 31. i s a 25 854/20/20. Other documents dealing with this function in­ clude: D.G., Galilee, to Legal Secretary, Law Courts, Jerusalem, Oct. 26, 1920. i s a 27-2630/G360; on the position of mukhtars with regard to the reg­ istration of land generally, see i s a 27-2640/G580. 32. For examples, see ISA 65/2533. 33. Kamil Hamid ash-Shaabi to D.O., Safad, Oct. 21, 1932. ISA 27-2679/ S27. On the practice of appointing mukhtars, PMC, Proceedings, Ninth Ses­ sion (June 8 -2 5 , 1926), p. 169. 34. C.S. to Treasurer, D.C.s, and Commissioner of Lands, May 16, 1 9 3 2 . I S A M 3 8 8 0 / 2 . "Note on Remuneration of Mukhtars," 1 9 4 1 . p ro co 7 3 3 / 4 3 3 / 750 0 4 /9 -14.

35. For a description of appointments made in 1937, ISA 27-2612/G 19. Examples of cases in which succeeding mukhtars were closely related may be found in ISA 4 551 Y /i 10/38^7 7 1/ 3 / n ; and 27-2574/A30. 36. This whole case is contained in ISA 27 71/3/19. 37. On the policy as to the number of mukhtars permitted per village, see ISA 27-2612/G 19. 38. All D.C.s and Commissioner of Lands to C.S., June 6, 1932. p ro co 733/269/75004/72. Palestine Govt. Report by Mr. C. F. Strickland of the In-

Notes to Pages 61-65

179

dian C ivil Service on the Possibility of Introducing a System of Agricultural Cooperation in Palestine (Jerusalem, 1930). 39. D.C.s and Commissioner of Lands to C.S., Oct. 26, 1934. p r o c o 733/269/75004/57-66. 40. Government Minutes, p r o c o 733/269/75004/2. 41. The final report on remuneration for mukhtars was submitted by one D.C., two individuals acting for D.C.s, the deputy treasurer, and the rural property tax commissioner to the C.S., June 14, 1935. The H.C. sent his rec­ ommendations to the Colonial Office on July 12, 1935. p r o c o 733/269/ 75004/22-34. 42. H.C. to Col. Secy., July 12, 1935. On remuneration in general and lists of salaries, see ISA 4 550 Y /i 50/37; 27 636/13; 27-2626/G201; 27-2698/29/5; 27-2612/G19. 43. For a description of the administrative structure in the Department of Education, see A.L. Tibawi, Arab Education in Mandatory Palestine (Lon­ don: Luzac, 1956), chap. 1. The personnel records of representative district inspectors of education are located in the ISA M G collection. Consult also, C ivil Service Lists and ISA I 626. 44. The material presented in this section is based on a study of all the personnel files of village teachers preserved in the ISA. The sample covers 475 individuals, all of whom taught in the Northern District for some time; my conclusions, therefore, apply most directly to this area. There is no rea­ son, however, to assume a wide disparity among districts, and most of the statements may be taken to apply throughout Palestine. All the personnel records on teachers are preserved in ISA 10 Boxes 10 10 -4 9 . 45. Such discussions are available in: H. E. Bowman, Middle East Win­ dow (New York: Longmans, Green and Co., 1942), pp. 269-79; A. Tannous, "The Village Teacher and Rural Reconstruction in Palestine," Open Court (Oct. 1935): 236-40; and H. E. Bowman, "The Provision and Organisation of Schools in Rural Districts," in Department of Education, Annual Report, 1927, app. C. 46. Tannous, "Village Teachers," p. 239. 47. Palestine Government, Department of Education, Annual Report, 1928 and 19 31. Also, PMC, Proceedings, Twenty-second Session (Nov. 3 Dec. 6, 1932), p. 100. 48. Five percent of the men and 35 percent of the women in the sample who entered the teaching force in the forties were Christian. 49. For examples of such complaints, see: D.O., Beisan, to D.I.E., Feb. 14, 1928. ISA 10 10 16 891/40. Report of Aug. 19 31. ISA 10 10 14 856/10. D.I.E., Galilee, to Dir. of Educ., Nov. 6, 1924. ISA 10 1020 1005/15. Reports for Jan. 19 31 and Sept. 19 31. ISA 10 10 17 922/27. D.O., Safad, to D.I.E., Galilee, Feb. 5, 1925. ISA 10 10 19 985/13. For an example of not uncommon hostility to­ ward a teacher, see D.I.E., Galilee, to Police Inspector, Tiberias, Nov. 26, 1930. ISA 10 10 19 950/17. 50. Ag. D.O., Safad, to Area Officer, Northern Area, April 26, 1930. ISA 10 10 19 985/13. 51. D.O., Acre, to D.I.E., Galilee, March 10, 1924. ISA 10 10 10 127/EN.

180

Notes to Pages 65-72

52. Report of Jan. 1929. ISA 10 1022 1063/EN. 53. See, e.g., D.I.E., Galilee, to Dir. of Educ., March 3, 1925. ISA 10 10 10 125/EN. Report, May 19 31. ISA 10 1016 886/25. D.O., Nazareth, to D.C., Northern District, Feb. 10, 1927. ISA 10 10 10 267/EN. Ag. D.O., Safad, to D.I.E., Galilee, April 14, 1928. ISA 10 1019 982/27. D.I.E., Galilee, to Dir. of Educ., Feb. 26, 19 31. ISA 10 10 17 922/27. D.I.E., Galilee, to Dir. of Educ., Oct. 19, 1937. ISA 10 10 13 837/10. Dir. of Educ., to D.I.E., Galilee, Feb. 14, 1940. ISA 10 10 17 927/42. D.I.E., Jerusalem, to Dir. of Educ., June 2, 1942. ISA 10 IO48 2047/2. 54. F. Khammush, Nablus, to Dir. of Educ., Aug. 17, 1929. ISA 10 1038 1409/2. 5 5. All regular teachers were required to list their property and to receive permission for further purchases of land or businesses. Although a small number (nineteen) did come from prominent religious or landholding fami­ lies, most seem to have originated in middle-level village or urban families, without significant independent means. 56. The Kadoorie School for Agriculture opened in 19 31 and a special class to train rural teachers was instituted at this facility. The Rural Teach­ ers Training Center in Ramallah began to function in 1935. 57 . ISA 10 IOI3 829/3.

58. The problem of retaining teachers in rural areas was not confined to Palestine; see H. B. Allen, Rural Education and Welfare in the M iddle East (London, 1946), p. 6. For examples of cases in which teachers applied for transfers, see ISA 10 10 13 833/14; 1015 873/33; 1016 899/16; 1032 1283/39; 1036 13 6 3 / 11. 59. A further effect of the tendency to employ unclassified teachers was a measure of administrative decentralization, since district inspectors began to take more responsibility for the appointment of local staff. 60. For examples of the reasoning behind transfers: ISA 10 1015 873/33; 10 18 928/11; 1019 981/6 and 984/16; 1036 13 6 3 /11; 1038 14 18 / 11. 61. Examples of complaints about drinking, political involvements, etc., may be found in: ISA 10 1010 142/EN; 1015 866/9; I 0 I 8 934/2; 1019 950/17; 1048 2047/2. Another difficulty arose from tension among teachers in the same schools: ISA 10 1015 866/9; I 0 30 1210/4; and 1038 1409/2. 62. ISA 10 1 0 1 9 972/9.

63. Muhammad Asad Subh to D.I.E., Galilee, Dec. 6, 1925. ISA 10 10 14 844/31. 64. D.I.E., Samaria, to Dir. of Educ., June 17, 19 31. ISA 10 1032 1283/39. 65. On political conflicts and religious strain, ISA 10 10 14 844/31 and 1030 1209/27. 5 . Village Administration

1. Such services included education and health facilities, which were usually provided by villagers at their own expense. On general changes in Palestinian legal structure, see N. Bentwich, 'T h e Legal System of Palestine under the Mandate/' M iddle East Journal II (1948): 33-46.

Notes to Pages 72-78

181

2. Local Council Ordinance, 19 21, Palestine Gazette, no. 42 (May 1, 1921). 3. The Royal (Peel) Commission report dismissed local councils as "more an instrument of the Central Administration than a real organ of local selfgovernment." Great Britain, Parliamentary Papers, Cmd. 5479. Report of the Palestine Royal Commission (Peel Report) (London, 1937), p. 257. 4. Survey of Palestine, p. 128. 5. "History of Tira," ISA 27 71/3/38; "History of Tantoura," ISA 27 71/3/37. For similar cases in other districts, see ISA 3885 T/41/9/3 and 27-2578 A 283. 6. Earlier discussions concerning a comprehensive scheme for local gov­ ernment had resulted in a report, but its recommendations were never im ­ plemented. For a full transcript of the discussions and reports, ses ISA 2 / 1 3 2 3 4 and 65/86. 7. Palestine Gazette, no. 176 (December 1, 1926): 626-27. Correspon­ dence regarding the formulation of the ordinance is contained in p r o c o 7 3 3 / 113 / 5 3 - 6 5 . 8. For information on road building, see Palestine Government, Annual Reports to the League of Nations. 9. Palestine Gazette (1925). Correspondence on the law is contained in p r o co 733/98/690-702. 10. D.C., Haifa, to C.S., March 23, 1920, ISA 4 546 Y /14 1/31. 1 1 . In 1933, the H.C. declared fourteen Arab local councils to be Local Education Authorities under the new Education Ordinance. See Palestine Gazette, supplement no. 2 (May 4, 1933): 167. On the number in 1944, see Survey of Palestine, vol. 1, p. 129. 12. President, Local Council of Rameh, to Officer Administering the Gov­ ernment, October 7, 1933; and D.C., Northern District, to C.S., November 5, 1933. ISA 4 207 G /110/3 3. Speech by President, Local Council, Bira, re­ ceived in C.S.'s office, November 1, 1934. ISA 4 G/162/34. 13. President, Local Council of Rameh, to Officer Administering the Gov­ ernment, October 7, 1933; and D.C., Northern District, to C.S., November 5, 1933. ISA 4 /2 0 7 G /no/33. 14. Speech by President, Local Council, Bira, received in C.S.'s office, No­ vember 1, 1934. ISA 4 208 G/162/34. 15. C.S. to all D.C.s, June 1934. ISA 27-26 31/G 4 18 . 16. Meeting of all D.C.s, Jerusalem, July 18, 1934. Extract from the min­ utes. ISA 4 207 G/104/34. 1 7. D.C., Haifa and Samaria, to C.S., Aug. 1, 1938. ISA 27-2631/G 318. 18. This report, known by the chairman's name as the Campbell Commit­ tee Report, was presented to the H.C. on January 16, 1935. See "Report of Committee on Village Organization. Part 14 of the (old) Local Government Bill." ISA 4 548 Y/196/33. 19. Commissioner of Lands, "Attitude of the Rural Population," May 12, 19 3 1. ISA Land Dept. M3880/2. 20. Ag. D.O., Nazareth, to A.D.C., Galilee, Sept. 14, 1 9 3 3 - ISA 27-2629/ G337. The pamphlet to which he refers is also to be found here. The entire

182

Notes to Pages 80-83

scope of the contemplated drive is outlined in a letter from the A.D.C., Galilee, to the D.O.s of Beisan, Nazareth, Safad, and Tiberias subdistricts, July 7, 1 9 3 3 21. Palestine Government, Report of the High Commissioner on the A d ­ ministration of Palestine, 19 2 0 -2 5 (Jerusalem, 1925), p. 40. 22. Officer Administering the Government to Col. Secy., June 24, 1927. pr o c o 733/142/44602/4-6. 23. Filastin, August 24, 1930. Arabic Press Summary for week ending Au­ gust 29, 1930, no. 49. 24. Palestine Government, "Report of Committee on the Economic Con­ dition of Agriculturists and the Fiscal Measures of Government in Relation Thereto" (Johnson-Crosbie report). Jerusalem, 1930. p r o co 733/185/77072/ 179 -8 0 . 25. Johnson-Crosbie, pp. 6 0 -6 1. 26. French Report. 27. Y. Farraj to C.S., Dec. 30, 1930. p r o co 733/19 9/8 7072/101-10. 28. Five ordinances dealing with land were promulgated between 1920 and 1933. The first two, Transfer of Land Ordinance, 1920, and Transfer of Land (Amendment) Ordinance, 19 21, stipulated that government consent was required in cases of transfer. The first Protection of Cultivators Ordi­ nance, 1929, required payment of compensation to evicted tenants but did not secure them a sufficient area for subsistence. The 1932 amendment to this ordinance extended its protection to subtenants. The Protection of Cultivators Ordinance, 1933, was meant to consolidate legislation on the subject and to make enforcement possible. It created a "statutory tenant" and provided that any tenant who had occupied and cultivated a holding for at least one year could not be evicted unless he received a subsistence area, if possible in the same district. Nevertheless, the ordinance could be effective only where tenants were prepared to make claims for their rights. These measures are summarized in a memo by the development officer on mea­ sures of the Palestine government to protect cultivators, p r o co 733/252/ 37 2 7 3 /1/17 -3 0 . In 1940 new Land Transfer Regulations severely limited Jewish purchases in most of Palestine. Great Britain. Cmd. 6180. Palestine Land Transfer Regulations (London, 1940). 29. See memo by development officer cited above, p r o co 733/252/27272/ 1/ 17 - 3 0 , and A.D.C., Samaria, "Note on the Working and Effect of the Pro­ tection of Cultivators (Amendment) Ordinance, 19 3 1," included in H.C. to Col. Secy., March 26, 1932. p r o co 733/224/97284/30-32. On the objectives of the 1933 ordinance, see Officer Administering the Govt, to Col. Secy., May 1 1 , 1933. p r o co 733/234/17272/1/61-69. The officer makes the point that monetary compensation was rarely reinvested in land. 30. H.C. to Col. Secy., Jan. n , 1930. p r o c o 733/184/77067/64. Memo by H. J. Downie on an agricultural bank, Dec. 12, 1932. p r o c o 733/223/97248/ 5 —13. Treasurer, Commissioner of Lands, and Director of Agriculture to C.S., Nov. 22, 1929. p r o c o 733/184/77067/71-86. 31. Col. Secy, to H.C. (draft), March 18, 1930. p r o c o 733/184/77067/ 54- 59.

Notes to Pages 83-87

183

32. Palestine Government, Report by Mr. C. F. Strickland of the Indian C ivil Service on the Possibility of Introducing a System of Agricultural Co­ operation in Palestine (Jerusalem, 1930). These reports were the outcome of official interest in cooperatives and served as the basis for further organiza­ tion. The Johnson-Crosbie, French, and J. H. Simpson reports all discussed the possibilities of initiating an Arab cooperative movement. 33. This loan, which was for P£2 million, was never approved by the Brit­ ish government. 34. "Extract from note of Secretary of State's discussion with Chaim Weizmann," Nov. 30, 1932. p r o c o 733/223/97248/2-3. 35. "The Co-operative Organization of the Arab Population of Palestine," Issued by the Registrar of Cooperative Societies (Jerusalem, April 1933). p r o co 733/233/17264/19. On cooperatives and their growth, see also, Shimoni, Aravei Eretz Israel, p. 1 7 1; and Survey of Palestine, pp. 357-6 3. 36. H.C. to Col. Secy., Oct. 8, 1935. p r o c o 733/37264/9. 37. H.C.'s opening statement to the PMC, Nov. 10, 1932. PMC, Proceed­ ings, Twenty-second Session, pp. 79-82. 38. H.C. to Col. Secy., March 6, 1935. p r o c o 733/272/75072/48. 39. "Extract from a Discussion in the Secretary of State's Room," Novem­ ber 7, 1932. p r o co 733/217/97072/132-35. 40. Shaw Commission Report, chaps. 7 and 8. The investigations by Simp­ son, Strickland, and French all contributed to the institution of measures to relieve immediate pressures on villages. 41. D.C. to Development Officer, Jerusalem District, April 19, 1935. ISA 25 854/20/19. The letters of various D.O.s to the D.C. giving their opinions of a loan scheme are also in this file. A more general discussion of the loan scheme may be found in a letter from the director of agriculture and forests to the C.S., May 7, 1935. p r o c o 733/274/75092/39-44. 42. H.C. to Col. Secy., Jan. 26, 1937. p r o c o 733/330/75092/10. 43. For reports by district officials that villagers were seeking work in the cities, see D.O., Safad, "Notes on Village Improvements carried out at Jish Village on 30th and 31st of August, 1933," Sept. 8, 1933; and D.O., Beisan, on visits to Kafra, Sept. 14, 1933; Farwana, July 28 and 29, 1933; and Murassas, Sept. 9, 1933. ISA 27-2629/G337. 44. "Report of Labour Legislation Committee," Oct. 6, 1932. p r o c o 733/220/97130/1. The Census of 19 3 1 and the Survey of Palestine include statistics on relative urbanization. For the change in occupational patterns that had occurred by 1937, see Royal (Peel) Commission Report, pp. 12 6 -2 7 ; also, Royal Institute of International Affairs, Great Britain and Palestine, 19 1 5 - 1 9 3 6 (London, 1937), pp. 3 1 - 3 4 45. Survey of Palestine, p. 157. 46. D.C., Jerusalem District, to Development Officer, April 19, 1935- ISA 25 854/20/19.

184

Notes to Pages 91-93

6. Rural Education 1. See the Mandate for Palestine, article 15, on the provisions for educa­ tion. The Jewish community took advantage of the protection of autonomy and of the Religious Communities Ordinance, 1926, to organize an indepen­ dent system of public education. Although the Palestine government allo­ cated grants to the Vaad Leumi's Board of Education after 1 9 2 7, it rarely in­ terfered with the administration of the schools. No Arab group used this ordinance in the same way. The Supreme Muslim Council did allocate 19 percent of its budget to schools and attempted to establish a Muslim univer­ sity, but it never materialized. See Ag. H.C. to Col. Secy., May 1 0 , 1 9 2 2 . p r o co 7 3 3/2 1 . In addition to the SMC, private groups established "national" schools in various cities. Tibawi, Arab Education in Mandatory Palestine, pp. 56- 66. The expansion of private Arab education, which paralleled and often exceeded that of the government system, is apparent in the annual re­ ports of the Department of Education. On the relationship between these developments and the growth of cultural nationalism, see A. M. AbuGhazaleh, "Arab Cultural Nationalism in Palestine, 1 9 1 9 - 1 948" (Ph.D. dis­ sertation, New York Univ., 1967), chap. 6. 2. H.C. to Col. Secy., Dec. 15, 19 21. p r o c o 733/8/Dispatch No. 507. Samuel hoped to open seventy-five elementary schools per year for four years, but the project came to a halt for financial reasons. See "Report on Palestine Administration, July, 1920-D ec., 19 2 1," London, 1922. 3. H.C. to Col. Secy., June 24, 1926. p r o c o 7 3 3 /115 /14 3 -4 4 . Samuel had made a similar suggestion for devolution of education after the Local Government Commission submitted its report; see H.C. to Col. Secy, Aug. i, 1924. p r o co 733/72/18-26. Literacy in the Christian community was almost 70 percent from the be­ ginning of the mandate, and educational opportunities resembled those of the Jewish sector far more than those of the Muslims. Census of 1931, pp. 2 0 6 -10 , and Survey of Palestine, p. 638. 4. p r o co 7 3 3 / 115 / 13 7 -3 8 . 5. H.C. to Col. Secy., April 20, 1923. p r o c o 733/44/167. 6. For a discussion of talks between Col. Kisch of the Jewish Agency and H. Bowman on the subject, see Kisch, Palestine Diary (London, 1938), pp. 8 9 90. Similar problems arose in connection with British proposals to establish a university in Palestine. This project was supported by English missionary groups and some members of the Colonial Office as a means to further Brit­ ish interests in the area. See "Report on the Anglican Schools in Palestine" by J. W. Headlam-Morley, July 6, 1927, "Notes on the Proposed Scheme for the Creation of a British University in Palestine." Submitted to the Palestine Royal Commission, Jan. 8, 1937. p r o c o 733/392/75077/7. For Zionist pro­ posals to bridge the gap between Arab and Jewish systems, see Ch. Arolosoroff to C. G. Eastwood, Private Secy., Government Offices, Jerusalem, April 14, 1933. C Z A S25/6700. 7. Dir. of Educ. to C.S., June 8, 1929. p r o c o 733/174 /6 7 355/14 -15. 8. Dir. of Educ. to all D.I.E.s (Jerusalem, Galilee, Samaria, and Southern

Notes to Pages 94-97

185

Districts, Dec. 17, 1942. ISA 3884/T/9/13. See also, Dir. of Educ. to Bishop in Jerusalem, St. George's Close, Sept. 11, 1934, on religious instruction in Samaria, p r o c o 733/267/37580/9-20. Dir. of Educ. to D.I.E., Galilee, Jan. 20, 1942. ISA 65/602/16. 9. Dir. of Educ. to C.S., Jan. 13, 1947. ISA 4 SF/i 13/47. 10. For a description of the unification process, see Dir. of Educ., Educa­ tion in Palestine. General Survey, 19 36 -19 4 6 (Jerusalem, 1946), p. 5. 1 1 . For the petition and response, see Muhammed Yacoub el-Ghusein (President, Executive Committee of Arab Youth Federation, Jaffa) to H.C., July 3 1 , 1 9 3 5 ; and Ag. Dir. of Educ. to C.S., Sept. 7, 1 9 3 5 . ISA 4 1 0 1 2 5

E/39/33. rell, who was director of education from 1936 to 1946, was particularly con­ cerned with enforcing British standards of education on both Arabs and Jews. See p r o c o 733/362/75077/62-70. 13. H.C. to Col. Secy., Dec. 31, 1932. p r o c o 733/230/17240/53. See also, Musa Kazem Pasha al-Husayni to H.C., Sept. 29, 1932. p r o c o 733/230/ 17240/59-60. Musa Kazem Pasha complained that the Ottoman govern­ ment had been more progressive in educational matters than the British ad­ ministration. This charge was repeated by Abdullah al-Jallad, secretary of the Society for the Preservation of Public Morality, Sept. 14, 1937. ISA 10 125 E/61/35. On the resentment of Zionist independence and development in education, see "Report on Illiteracy in Palestine," submitted to Members of the British Parliament by the Palestine Arab Party, June 10, 1935. ISA

65/3333.

14. Dir. of Educ., memo on "Draft Estimates of Education Department, transmitted by H.C. to Col. Secy., April 10, 1937. PRO CO 733/ 329/75077/4-20. 15. H. Bowman, Diary, April 13, 1925. MEC. 16. Royal (Peel) Commission Report, p. 254. For Farrell's discussion of the commission's recommendations that mixed schools be encouraged by the government, see p r o CO 733/362/75077/62-70. For an earlier discussion of mixed schools, see PMC, Proceedings, Seventeenth Session (June 3 - 2 1 , I 9 3 °)/ PP. 1 1 0 - 1 1 1 . On the personnel problems generated by antagonism between Antonius and Farrell, Bowman's preferences for an English director, and Antonius's subsequent resignation from the department, see: Bowman's Diary for June 18, 1925; Nov. 12, 1925; Oct. 24, 1926; Sept. 4, 1927; and Jan. 15, 1928. See also, Antonius Papers, ISA 65/02952 and 65/02883, as well as Tibawi, Arab Education in Mandatory Palestine, pp. 28-30. 17. "Memorandum" by J. Farrell, transmitted by H.C. to Col. Secy, Nov. 1 1 , 1939. p r o c o 733/431/76031/7. 18. Great Britain, Palestine Royal Commission. Minutes of Evidence Heard at Public Sessions (London, 1937), P- 3 5 2- Khalil Totah had served as principal of the Men's Training College and then became headmaster of the private Friends' Boys' School in Ramallah. 19. Bitterness over the almost complete lack of higher education in Pal­ estine grew over the years as the number of qualified candidates increased. I 9 3 7 - 3 8 ,//

186

Notes to Pages 98-100

Although many Palestinians went to the American University of Beirut or to Egyptian institutions and a few were sent to Great Britain, many more could not afford these alternatives. On the other hand, advance at the village level was marked, if very uneven. Monthly Bulletin of Statistics, Sept. 1945, p. 559; H. B. Allen, Rural Education and Welfare in the M iddle East, p. 9. 20. Dept, of Education, Annual Report, 19 45-46; J. Katul, "Education in Palestine." ISA 10 125 E/61/35. Census of 19 31. 21. Tibawi, Arab Education in Mandatory Palestine, chap. 6, discusses the financing of education. Much of the development that did occur, partic­ ularly in towns, was the result of Arab, not British, investment and effort. Villagers tended to be more dependent on some government help for person­ nel, although they, too, often drew on local support. 22. Palestine Government, Department of Education, Note on Education in Palestine, 19 2 0 -2 9 (Jerusalem, 1929), p. 8. This formula remained in effect throughout the mandate. The Palestine government often contributed to building expenses, but not always; in the 1930s and 1940s villagers also hired extra, unclassified teachers at their own expense. 23. Local Government Commission, Minute by the H.C. ISA 65/86. See also, "Minutes of the 14th Meeting of the Local Government Commission," May 10, 1925. ISA 2 133. 24. J. Farrell, "Memorandum on the Reports of the Local Government Commission," p. 2. ISA 2 1 3 3 . The reply was made by R. Storrs, June 9, 1925. ISA 2 1 3 3 . See also, the claim by the representative of Palestine that the Lo­ cal Government Commission Report was out of date by 1926. PMC, Pro­ ceedings, Ninth Session (June 8 -25, 1926), p. 169. 25. Memo of Moslem Educational Committee, Mohammed Amin, to C.S., Aug. 19,. 1928. PRO CO 733/146/57058 (Pt. IIJ/88. "Memorandum of Municipal Council," Jerusalem, Aug. 16, 1928. p r o c o 733/146/57058 (Pt. H )/93-ioo. A history of the ordinance is enclosed in a letter from Officer Administering the Government to Col. Secy., Nov. 8, 1928. PRO CO 733/146/ 57058/27-50. Zionist response to the bill may be found in Ch. Arlosoroff to C.S., May 9, 1932. ISA 10 125 E/39/3 1 ; and "Memorandum, Education Bill 19 32," from members of the Executive of the Jewish Agency to Dr. Berkson, Director of Jewish Education, c z a S25/6760. 26. H. Bowman, M iddle East Win do w (London: Longman, Green and Co., 1942), p. 269. Education officials were well aware of the erratic way in which rural schools developed. Between 1932 and 1934 they proposed three plans for the expansion of education, one of which dealt explicitly with village schools. See "Preliminary Report of the Committee Appointed by His Ex­ cellency the High Commissioner to Make Recommendations for Additional Accommodation in Government Elementary Schools in the Principal Towns in Palestine," Transmitted by H.C. to Col. Secy., Dec. 31, 1932. p r o c o 733/230/17240/59-69; "Memorandum from the Director of Education on the Expansion of Education in Towns," Jan. 3, 1934. PRO CO 733/250/37240/ 2 0 -2 7 ; "Memorandum on the Continued Expansion of Education in Arab Villages of Palestine," by Dir. of Educ., Oct. 3, 1934. PRO CO 733/282/ 7 5 2 5 4 /10 -18 .

Notes to Pages 100-105

187

27. The desire for an Arabic system of education was part of the growing movement in Arab provinces just before and during World War I. The Otto­ man Provisional Law of Primary Education of 19 13 was passed partly in re­ sponse to these demands; similarly, an Arabic secondary school was opened by Ottoman authorities in Jerusalem in 1916. 28. "Memorandum on the Continued Expansion of Education in Arab Vil­ lages." PRO CO 733/282/75254/13. For evidence of the way in which this policy would frustrate villagers' initiatives, see D.O., Ramallah Subdistrict, to Mukhtars and Elders of Beiten, Jan. 13, 1925. ISA 25 853/19/9. 29. Report of the O'Donnell Commission. Section on Education, p r o CO 733/208/87330/35. 30. H. Bowman's "Comments on the Report." p r o CO 733/208/87330/18. 3 1. "Memo on the Continued Expansion of Education in Arab Villages." Officer Administering the Government to Col. Secy., Sept. 20, 1 9 3 5 . PRO CO 7 3 3 /2-7 3 /7 5 0 7 7 / 1 6 . 32. For a discussion of the disadvantages and advantages of establishing formal education committees on the village level, see ISA 24 853/19/40. When created, such committees were chaired by the D.O. and often in­ cluded the D.I.E. and a headmaster of the government school. An example of village feuding over schools is contained in "Establishment of School," Khadder Village, 1935. ISA 25 853/19/36. 33. Advisory Council, Third Meeting, Dec. 7, 1920. PRO CO 733/1/442. 34. Palestine Government, Department of Education, Annual Report, 1926, p. 13. The Women's Training College was opened in 1920 with seven­ teen Muslim and twenty-nine Christian pupils. By 1927 two-thirds of the sixty-six students were Muslims. Another indicator of Muslim interest in female education is the activity of the SMC in opening girls' schools. For a description of the situation before World War I, see F. Newton, Fifty Years in Palestine (London: Coldharbor Press, 1948), pp. 3 1 - 3 2 , 59-66, 14 7-4 9 . 35. H. Ridler, "Special Problems in the Training of Women Teachers in the Near East," Dept, of Educ., Annual Report, 1927, pp. 2 8 - 3 0 . For another example of attitudes toward female education, see Dept, of Education, Bul­ letin (Arabic) 1 9 7 4 . ISA 65/029. 36. Annual Report, 1930. 37. "Memorandum on the Continued Expansion of Education in Arab Vil­ lages." PRO CO 733/282/75254/16. 38. Officer Administering the Govt, to Col. Secy., May 10, 1935. PRO CO 733/270/44. Female education has been a standing problem in most coun­ tries of the Middle East. See Szyliowicz, Education and Modernization in the M iddle East (Ithaca: Cornell Univ. Press, 1973)/ PP- 3 ° 3 ~ 4 ; H.B. Allen, Rural Education and Welfare in the M iddle East, pp. 1 5 - 1 6 ; and, on Syria, PMC, Proceedings, Twentieth Session (June 9 -27, 1931), p. 51 39. H.C. to Col. Secy., March 30, 1935. PRO CO 733/277/75132/22. For statistics on the Women's Training College, see Dept, of Educ., Annual Re­ port, 1946. 40. "Memo by Director of Education on Expansion of Rural Education

188

Notes to Pages 105-109

submitted in connection with Estimates, I 9 3 4 - 35 -" H.C. to Col. Secy., May 19, 1934. PRO CO 733/263/37454/2 i - 26. 41. Minutes by Bowman, July 13, 1928. ISA 25 853/19/31. The desire for female education was evident as early as 1920. The Palestine government's "Report on Palestine Administration, July, 1920-D ec., 19 2 1" makes this clear: "A certain prejudice against the education of women exists among a section of the Moslem population, but in the larger centers of population this is rapidly disappearing and there is a growing demand for girls' schools and especially for instruction in hygiene and domestic economy" (p. 54). 42. Supplying Muslim teachers was particularly difficult in the case of girls' schools, since there was no history of women's education in Palestine and the only training institution at this time was the Women's Elementary Training College. Christian girls had far greater choice because of the m is­ sionary schools. 43. Instances of urban insistence on female education may be found in: Petition to H.C., Oct. 25, 1935. ISA 27-2682/S271; and Dep. D.C., Acre, to Chairman, District Housing Commission, Nazareth, Oct. 5, 1943. ISA 27-2578/A331. 44. H.C. to Col. Secy., Jan. 3, 1935. PRO CO 733/277/75132/18. 45. On the growth and political activity of women's groups, see Mogan­ nam, The Arab Woman and the Palestine Problem, pt. 1. See also, H.C. to Col. Secy., June 23, 1936. PRO CO 733/319/7550/4 (Pt. I)/i28. These changes must be seen in relative terms, however, and not as signifying widespread changes in the position of women. 46. Royal (Peel) Comimssion, Evidence, p. 354. Totah added that only fif­ teen village girls were completing an elementary education at that time. No complete secondary public school for girls ever existed under the mandate. See also, Farrell's "Note on the Estimates, 19 3 7 -3 8 ," in which he says that new girls' schools would be severely restricted by the lack of teachers, what­ ever the financial problems. H.C. to Col. Secy., April 10, 1937. PRO CO 733/ 329/75077/4-20. 47. H.C. to Col. Secy., Jan. 3, 1935. PRO CO 733/277/75132/18. 48. D.I.E., Samaria, to D.C., Samaria, Jan. 5, 1946. ISA 3883/T/9. 49. Palestine Government, Annual Report on Palestine, 1938. PRO CO 733 / 399 / 75162 .

50. For an example of private schools for girls, see Dir. of Educ. to Arch­ bishop of Ba'albek, Administrator of the Greek Catholic Diocese of Haifa and Acre, Dec. 10, 1942. ISA 27-2639/G553/1. On village girls' schools, Dir. of Educ. to all D.I.E.s, Sept. 2, 1937. ISA 27-2642/G666; "Development and Expansion of Village Girls' Schools, 19 4 7-4 8 ," Aug. 21, 1947, by D.I.E., Haifa. ISA 27 57/4; A.D.C., Tulkarm, to A.D.C., Nablus, May 12, 1938. ISA 3884/T/9/5. See also, Bowman, M iddle East Window, p. 277. 51. Bowman, M iddle East Window, p. 71. 52. Officer Administering the Govt, to Col. Secy., Sept. 20, 1935. PRO CO 733/273/75077/17. On the subject of English teaching in rural schools that extended to a fifth class, see "Memorandum" by Dir. of Educ., Nov. 20,

Notes to Pages 109-113

189

1937. PRO CO 733/362/75077/69. By 1946, 81 out of 125 village schools in Samaria taught English. D.I.E., Samaria, Monthly Report to Dir. of Educ., Nov. 10, 1946. ISA 3884/T/9/1. For most of the mandate, village pupils suf­ fered not only from a lack of schools but also from the difficulty of continu­ ing their education by transferring to town schools. In many cases, they could not meet the standards required in the latter,- furthermore, the physi­ cal difficulties of studying away from home were substantial, and custom often forbade boys to live with strangers. In 1936 only four rural hostels could accommodate village boys; by 1945 the number had increased to thir­ teen. A table showing the pattern of movement in Tulkarm Subdistrict in 1946 may be found in 3884/T/9/5. 53. Salim el Tibi, Vice Pres., and Nasir Ibrahim, First Secretary of the Vil­ lage Congress, to H.C., Nov. 14, 19 29 . ISA 38 80/7. See also, C.S. to Secy., Executive Committee of the Palestine Arab Congress, March 1923, in which the latter's request for practical education is discussed. ISA 2 1 5 9 . 54. Letter from Principal of Kadoorie Agricultural School, Tulkarm, to prospective entrants, July, 1937. ISA 27-2630/G358. The difficulties of achieving productive cooperation between the Dept, of Educ. and the Dept, of Agriculture in the villages are also apparent in the correspondence dealing with village demonstration plots and the role of school teachers. See ISA 4 Ag. 168. 5 5. Eleven Gaza notables to Dir. of Agriculture and Forests, May 15, 1935. ISA IO 128 E/26/44. 56. Ag. Dir. of Educ. to C.S., Aug. 2, 1935. ISA 10 128 E/26/44. 57. Dir. of Educ. to all D.C.s, A.D.C.s, and D.I.E.s, Feb. 12, 1941. ISA 10 128 E/5/44. 58. H.C. to Col. Secy., Sept. 21, 1929. p r o c o 733/176/67463/23. See also H.C. to Col. Secy., Dec. 5, 19 21. p r o c o 733/8/313; and Advisory Council Meeting, Dec. 6, 19 21. p r o CO 733/176/67463/25-41. 59. ISA 25 8 5 3 / 1 9 / 3 1 .

60. H.C. to Col. Secy., July 15, 1933. PRO CO 733/245/17494. See also, "Report of the Committee appointed by His Excellency the High Commis­ sioner to formulate a scheme for the establishment of a Government Tech­ nical Institute for the training of Palestinians." PRO c o 733/245/17494/ 90-96. 61. "Report of the Committee on Scholarships Tenable Abroad for Tech­ nical Education," July 20, 1932. p r o c o 733/227/97408/39-40. 62. Dept, of Educ., Annual Report, 1927. Appendix B, p. 21. This issue was never resolved. It was the subject of newspaper articles (see, e.g., AlD ifa’a, May 31, 1945), testimony before the Royal (Peel) Commission (by Totah) and complaints by the Muslim Brotherhood (see Secy., Muslim Broth­ erhood, Jerusalem to Dir. of Educ., Oct. 21, 1946. ISA 4 SF/i 13/47). Tibawi, Arab Education in Mandatory Palestine, discusses this conflict between the Arab community and the Dept, of Educ. extensively. 63. H.C. to Miss Susan Lawrence, M.P., May 25, 1935. PRO CO 733/ ^ 7 3/ 75 0 77/30 -31.

190

Notes to Pages 114-123

64. Annual numbers of scout troops in government schools are listed in the Dept, of Educ. Annual Reports. Government teachers were also often assigned, in part, on the basis of their training as scout leaders. 65. Bowman, Diary, Dec. 28, 1 9 2 3 . MEC. 66. Ibid., Sept. 24, 1924. 67. Dir. of Educ. to D.I.E.s, Dec. 10, 1932. ISA 27-2621/G 115. 68. Station Officer, Safad, to Assistant District Superintendent of Police, Safad, July 5, 1933. ISA 27-2621/G 115. See also "Report on the JerusalemJaffa District" by R. Storrs, June 2, 1924. PRO CO 733/69/140; and G. MacLaren, D.C. Jerusalem to C.S., June 28, 1937, on his testimony in 1929. ISA 10 126 E/4/37. 69. S. J. Hogben, Assistant Dir. of Educ., to E. Keith-Roach, District Scout Commissioner, Northern District; A.T.O. Lees, District Scout Commis­ sioner, Southern District; and L. Andrews, Rover Scout Commissioner, Galilee, May 29, 1937. ISA 10 E/4/37. These officials of the scout movement were all district administrators of the Palestine government as well. 70. D.C., Northern District, to Hogben, June 1937 (draft of a letter not sent). ISA 1 0 E/4/37. The D.C. makes the point that scouting did not include Jewish boys "so at once the whole movement became to some extent an Arab affair sponsored by British officials." He notes also that "in many v il­ lages small boys have been coerced by their schoolmasters into becoming boy scouts." 7 1. "Re: Boy Scout Movement in Palestine" by the Deputy-Inspector C.I.D. for the C.S., March 25, 1938, summarizes scouting from its inception to that time. ISA 10 E/4/37. 72. Bowman, M iddle East Window, p. 310. 73. For lists of occupied schools, see "Government School Buildings Not Available for Occupation by Schools," Oct. 1936. ISA 10 126 E/44/36; and Dir. of Educ. to C.S., March 15, 1945. ISA 10 128 E/10/45. On the impact of the revolt, see Bowman, M iddle East Window, pp. 3 1 0 - 1 1 , and Dept, of Educ., Education in Palestine. General Survey, 19 3 6 -19 4 6 (Jerusalem 1946). 7 . The Arab Revolt

1. Different points of view may be found in the following accounts: J. Marlowe, Rebellion in Palestine (London, 1946); Y. Porath, The Emergence of Palestinian Arab Nationalism, 19 2 9 -19 3 9 (London, 1977); S. al-Yasin, Al-Thawrah el-Arabiyyah al-Kubrafi Filastin, 19 3 6 -19 3 9 (Cairo, 1967). 2. For the early political history of this struggle, see the Royal (Peel) Commission Report. The British decision to deport all the major Arab po­ litical leaders in the Fall of 1937 left the Arab movement without coor­ dinated direction. An interesting source, which indicates the image nation­ alists were trying to project, is the English language newspaper, Palestine and Trans-fordan, which was published from 1936 to 1938. Also, for an evaluation of British handling of the revolt, see PMC, Proceedings, Thirtysecond (Extraordinary) Session (July 7 -August 18, 1937). 3. A description of villagers' responsiveness to the arrest of a local leader

Notes to Pages 123-129

191

may be found in I. Khalidi to H. E. Bowman, May 25, 1936. H. E. Bowman Papers, Private Papers Collection. Middle East Centre (m e c ), St. Antony's College, Oxford. On the close connection between religious leaders and the rebellion, see the Tegart Papers. Box I, File 3, also at the m e c . A letter from the H.C. to Col. Secy., March 4, 1935, describes the use of fetvas (legal opin­ ions) and khutbas (sermons) for political purposes, p r o c o 733/278/75145/ 45-46. 4. A detailed analysis and description of the revolt may be found in Porath, The Palestinian Arab National Movement, chap. 9. 5. H. M. Wilson, "School Year in Palestine, 19 3 8 -19 3 9 ," Private Papers Collection, m e c . 6. On a blood feud that developed between Druzes and Muslims in Shefa Amr and its consequences for the surrounding villages, see petitions from the mukhtars of Nazareth Subdistrict to the H.C., n.d., and from the mukhtars of villages in Acre Subdistrict to the H.C., March 30, 1940. ISA 27-2629/G343. Petitions showing the exacerbation of a long-standing feud between Greek Catholics and Greek Orthodox in er-Rameh (Acre Sub­ district) by the revolt are contained in ISA 27-2575/A35. 7. H.C. to Col. Secy., April 14, 1938. p r o c o 935/21/27. 8. H.C. to Col. Secy., Sept. 13, 1938. p r o c o 935/21/27. 9. On the emergence of these groups, see Shimoni, Aravei Eretz Israel, p. 176; or A. Cohen, Arab Border Villages, chap. 1. A more thorough analy­ sis of social change is contained in M.Y. al-Husayni, Al-Tatawwur alIjtim aci wa-al-iqtisadi (Jaffa, 1946). The collection of Tegart papers docu­ ments attacks on mukhtars and notables. 10. Ag. D.C. to C.S., Sept. 20, 1937. ISA 27-2642/G665. 1 1 . Ibid. 12. Ag. D.C., Galilee, to C.S., April 25, 1940. ISA 27-2629/G343. 13. Khalil Zaki (pseudonym) to H.C., July 5, 1938. ISA 4 551 Y/57/38. See also, the dismay expressed by members of the Greek Orthodox community in er-Rameh and its surroundings, when members of their sect were exiled. They felt that since those exiled had supported the government during the disturbances, they should not be punished for attacking their opposition in the village. ISA 27-2575/A35. 14. Memo to the H.C., Sept. 14, 1938. D.C. MacGillivray Papers, m e c . Frances Newton, who had been a missionary in Palestine for years, was par­ ticularly active in stirring up opposition to the military policy of blowing up village houses. PRO CO 733/370/75156/58. Also F. E. Newton, Fifty Years in Palestine (London: Coldharbor Press, 1948). 15. D.C., Southern District, to C.S., Oct. 8, 1938. Lloyd Phillips Collec­ tion, MEC. 16. Arnon, "Fellahim B-Mered Ha-Aravi," pp. 7 3 ~ 7 4 - Criminal Investiga­ tion Division News Bulletin for Sept. 6, 1938, to Sept. 13, 1938. Tegart Pa­ pers. Box I File II; H. M. Wilson, Diary. MEC. For the proportion of fines ac­ tually collected, see C.S. to D.C.s, May 3, 1938. ISA 27-2642/G665. 17. "Representations Addressed to the High Commissioner by the Higher Arab Officials," June 30, 1936.

192

Notes to Pages 129-134

18. Royal (Peel) Commission Report. Appendix 2. Also see Royal (Peel) Commission Report, p. 117 , and PMC, Proceedings, Thirty-Second Session, pp. 7 6 - 8 0 . 19. For one example of overt political activity, see ISA 10 1019 972/9. An earlier example of discounting political activities is recorded in D.I.E., Sa­ maria, to Dir. of Educ., Oct. i i , 1929. ISA 10 1022 1065/26. About ninety teachers were arrested during the revolt, and ten of these were dismissed by order of the H.C. Dept, of Educ., Annual Report, 1939, P- 1. On the response to arrests of teachers in 19 36-39, see: ISA 10 1015 863/33; 1018 928 /ii; 10 19 950/17; 1022 1065/26; 1027 1146/5. Also, Aref el-Aref, Diary, Dec. 26, 1939. 20. ISA 1 0 IOI5 863/33. 2 1 . ISA 10 IO32 1 259/27.

22. Ibid. 23. Ali Muhammed Anabtawi to Dir. of Educ., Jan. 18, 1939. ISA 10 10 21 1044/22. 24. ISA 10 10 15 863/33; 1 ^i6 899/16; 1021 1044/22; 1032 1270/23; 1038 1409/2. 25. D.C., Jerusalem, to D.C., Northern District, Sept. 2, 1937. ISA 272630/G367. The legal powers of district officers were, in any case, quite re­ stricted. They held magisterial warrants that permitted them to try specific offenses for which the maximum penalty was not over fifteen days and/or a fine of P£5. This whole file deals with the subject; see also ISA 27-2651/ G 10 0 1. 26. ISA MG 439 U /1332/31. 27. ISA MG 16 1 U/2144/34. 28. Aref el-Aref, Diary, MEC. 29. Tegart Diary, Dec. 12, 1937, and "Conversation with Keith-Roach," Dec. 23, 1937. Box IV. MEC. 30. District Inspector-General, C.I.D., to Sir Charles Tegart, March 11 , 1939. Box I File 3(c). See also memo by A.D.C., Samaria, to Tegart, Dec. 22, 1937, on the activities of Izza Din ash-Shawa and Rashid ash-Shawa, both ex-district officers who played active roles in the revolt. Box II, File 3. MEC. 31. Discussion with Battershill, Jan. 24, 1938. Tegart Papers, Box IV, MEC. 32. Conversation with Kardus, D.O., Jan. 3, 1938. Also, meetings with Keith-Roach and N. Saba, D.O. for Jerusalem Rural, Jan. 4, 1938. Tegart Pa­ pers. Box IV. MEC. 33. D.O., Acre, to A.D.C., Safad, Sept. 4, 1937. ISA 27-2574/A30. It is in­ teresting to note that by 1943 the same district officer agreed to this mukhtar's dismissal for noncooperation. 34. District Inspector-General, C.I.D., to Inspector-General, April 29, 1938; Interview with Suleiman Bey Toukan, April 28, 1938, Box I, File 3(a); Diary: Dec. 22, 1937, and Jan. 2, 1938. Box IV. Tegart Papers. MEC. 35. i s a M G 103 U/207/31. 36. For concrete details on class divisions in the period, see ISA 65/2533. Other summaries of individuals and their political positions in these years may be found in: CZA S/25 9228, 3008, 3289, 3290, and in ISA 65/2216. See

Notes to Pages 134-142

193

also, Arnon, "Fellahim B-Mered Ha-Aravi," on active and passive peasantry. 37. Incidents in which mukhtars were kidnapped and/or murdered, as well as cases of active collaboration, are cited in ISA 65/2216 and 2533; also in the Tegart Papers. 38. Tegart, Box I, File II. Arnon, "Fellahim B-Mered Ha-Aravi," pp. 37 -3 8 . 39. Statement of Ahmed Mohammed al-Sa'adi of Nuris Tegart Papers, Box I, File 3(a). 40. A.D.C., Tiberias, to D.C., Galilee and Acre, Nov. 27, 1938. ISA 27-2697/29/3. 41. Government Minutes, D.O., Acre, to A .D .C , Galilee. ISA 27-2697/ 29/342. Mukhtars of Acre Subdistrict to D.C., Galilee, April 25, 1938. ISA 27-2644/G767. 43. Arnon, "Fellahim B-Mered Ha-Aravi/'pp. 42, 56-58, 6o; al-Yasin, AlThawrah al-Arabiyyah, pp. 4 3-45. 8. Government and Society: Interdependence during the War Years 1. Great Britain. Parliamentary Papers. Cmd. 6019. Statement of Policy Presented by the Secretary of State for the Colonies, 1939. 2. D. Harris, "Post-War Reconstruction in Palestine," British Council Summer Lecture Series, 1943. Delivered April 29, 1943. ISA 27 102/1. 3. H.C. to Col. Secy., April 30, 1941. PRO CO 733/447/76048/37. See also "Proposals for New Works or Activities Considered Suitable to Be Financed by the New Colonial Development Fund," submitted to the Secretary, Cen­ tral Committee for Development and Welfare Services, April 22, 1940. ISA 4 C /13/1. 4. First Interim Report of the Employment Committee (Appointed Aug. 22, 1944). PRO CO 733/469/75284/32. On the differentiation of the Arab economy, see Royal (Peel) Commission Report, pp. 12 7 -2 8 ; Survey of Pal­ estine, chap. 8; Shimoni, Aravei Eretz Israel, pp. 1 7 0 - 7 1 ; and Z. Abramovitz, "Wartime Development of Arab Economy in Palestine," Palestine Year­ book, 19 44-45, I, 130-44* 5. Inspector of Labor, Northern Region, to D.C., Galilee, Dec. 17, 1945; and Monthly Report on Resettlement, February 1946, by Inspector of Labor, Northern Region. ISA 27-2635/G493/5. Also, Palestine Government, De­ partment of Labor, Annual Report for 1946, pp. 4 -5 . 6. H.C. to Col. Secy., Dec. 29, 1938. PRO CO 733/400/75163/94-102. The problem of administering Palestine through British officers with insuf­ ficient knowledge of Arabic was mentioned also in connection with a Brit­ ish judge. D.C., Jerusalem, to C.S., Jan. 17, 1938. ISA 27-2642/G680. See also, PRO CO 733/75163/5/Govt. Minutes; and H.C. to Col. Secy., Feb. 13, 1942. PRO CO 733/439/75163/5/11 —14. On posting of British officers to strengthen the district administration: H.C. to Col. Secy., April 27, 1940. PRO CO 733/ 4 21/75163/3/30 -33, and Ag. C.S. to all D.C.s, Sept. 3, 1938. ISA 27-2612/G52. 7. Ag. C.S. to eleven department heads, Aug. 23, 1939* ISA 2 7 _25 9 4 /

194

Notes to Pages 143-147

AF203. See also, ISA 27-2594/AF204, 27-2593/AF192; and 27-2639/G559. 8. Ag. C.S., Circular No. 38, April 1, 1943. ISA 27-2594/AF208. 9. "The Civil Service Association," Second Division Haifa, June 8, 1943. PRO CO 733/457/45156/156/78-79. See also, ISA 65/3832 and Filastin, May 14, 194310. Many towns were seized temporarily by the rebels, who also set up courts to try traitors to the national cause. On the difficulties of mayors who tried to keep order see D.C., Southern District, to C.S. on Ramie, Oct. 8, 1938. Lloyd-Phillips Collection; District Inspector General, C.I.D., to In­ spector General, C.I.D., April 29, 1938, on an interview with Touqan, mayor of Nablus, Tegart Collection, Box I File 3(a); discussion with Hassan Bey Shukri, mayor of Haifa, Tegart Diary, Dec. 22, 1937, Tegart Papers, Box IV MEC. The mayors of Ramie, Nablus, Haifa, and Hebron were known to pre­ fer to cooperate with the government. An example of cooperation with the rebels is reflected in the letter from the D.C., Lydda, to C.S., Dec. 28, 1939. ISA 4 214 G/6/39. 1 1 . Personal Telegram, H.C. to Col. Secy., Jan. 16, 1941. PRO CO 733/444/ 75872/85/48. 12. On the wartime structure for consultations, see H.C. to Col. Secy., March 31, 1941. PRO CO 733/444/75872/114/20-22. Reports on postwar municipal elections may be found in the following files of the ISA: 4 220 G/41/47, 219 G/22/46; 27-2579/A417; 27-2681/S182; 27-2695/28/2; 272632/G450/II, and Tulkarm 172. See also, resolutions from the fourth M ay­ ors' Conference in Gaza, Feb. 22, 1945. ISA 4 218 G /11/44/. 1 3 . Jayyusi, Chairman, Tulkarm Electoral Commission, to A.D.C. Feb. 1 1 , 19 4 6 . ISA Tulkarm 1 7 2 . 14. D.O., Tulkarm, to D.C., Samaria, July 9, 19 4 7 . ISA Tulkarm, 1 7 2 . 15. Y. Porath, "Usbat al-Taharrur al-Watani, 19 4 3-19 4 8 ," Asian and A f­ rican Studies IV (1968): 1 - 2 1 . 16. A.D .C., Tiberias, to D.C., Galilee and Acre, Sept. 9, 1939. ISA 271641/G625. M. Bailey to Keith-Roach (personal), December 1, 1938. ISA 27 7 1 / 2 - 1 . D.C., Galilee, to D.C., Jerusalem, August 5, 1939. ISA 27 7 1 / 2 - 1 . 17. "N ote" by H.C., September 23, 1940. ISA 27 7 1 / 2 - 1 . Palestine Gov­ ernment, Report of the Committee on Village Administration and Respon­ sibility (Bailey Committee Report) (Jerusalem, 1941). 18. Ibid., p. 7. 19. Ibid., p. 8. 20. Ibid. 21. Ibid., pp. 2 1 - 3 3 . 22. The Municipal Ordinance of 1934 had rescinded all previous laws dealing with local administration. Discussions concerning new legislation to legitimize the appointment of mukhtars may be found in ISA 4 550 Y / i 50/37; 551 Y/7/38; and 27-2612/G19. The Mukhtars (Appointment) Or­ dinance, 1942, was published in the Palestine Gazette No. 1204 Supplement No. 1, June 25, 1942. 23. D.C., Southern District, to C.S., June 29, 1938. ISA 4 550 Y/150/37. 24. Bailey Committee Report, p. 16.

Notes to Pages 147-152

195

25. D.C., Samaria, to all A.D.C.s, Oct. 23, 1944. i s a 3890/2. See also, the Village Administration Ordinance, 1944, Part V (Palestine Gazette No. 1286, August 26, 1943). 26. Lists of mukhtars, along with salaries and information on the v il­ lages, were compiled. See, e.g., ISA 27 636/13; 3890/2; 27-2679/827; 272698/29/5; 27-2926/G201. Meetings of mukhtars, minutes for 1944-46, may be found in ISA 27 21/19. 27. See ISA 3890/3; 27-2612/G19; and 3885/G/39/1A. 28. For accounts of changes in mukhtars and the grounds for complaints, see ISA 4 5 5 1 Y /n o/38 and Y/86/38; Boxes 27-2697 and 27-2698; 27 71/3/19 and 7 1/ 3 / n ; 3884/T/9 and 3885/T/39/1A; 3890/2; 27-2574/A30. 29. The case of Samakh is recorded in ISA 27-2697/29/4/3. Information on Ijzim is in ISA 27 71/3/19. An example of the more active role played by youth may be found in the case of Halhul village, Hebron. ISA 4557 Y/66/47. 30. "Extract from record of representations made by Kassem Eff. Rimawi of the Arab Higher Committee," April 1947. ISA 27-2612/G19. See also, M. E. Mogannam, Counsel for representatives of certain hamulas in Beit Jibreen, to D.C., Jerusalem, May 1, 1942. ISA 4 546 Y /i 10/38. 31. 27-2612/G .19. For a description of a modified election, see 3890/2. 32. A comparison of council budgets may be found in the Survey of Pal­ estine, pp. 13 8 -3 9 . Specific examples of local council budgets are to be found in ISA 27-2631 G/418/1. 33. The case is detailed in ISA 27-2686 T/18. 34. A.D.C., Acre, to D.C., Galilee, March 12, 1947. ISA 27-2578/A282. 35. See correspondence between D.C., Acre, and D.C., Galilee, and be­ tween D.C., Galilee, and C.S. in 1942-44. ISA 27-2578/A283. 36. "Note on a Confreence Held at the District Commissioner's Office, Nablus, on the 26th October, 1944, on the Subject of the Application of the Village Administration Ordinance." ISA 3891/4. For examples of village re­ quests for the establishment of councils, see ISA 4 219 G/31/45 and 218 G/3/45. Opposition to a council was expressed in some cases. See ISA 27 71/4/2. 37. Survey of Palestine, vol. I, pp. 1 3 1 - 3 2 . 38. D.C., Jerusalem, to A.D.C., Gaza, November 26, 1946. ISA 4 555

Y/133/45. 39. "Local or Village Council Procedure," A.D.C., Tulkarm, September 8, 19 4 6 . ISA 3 8 9 1 / 4 .

40. Information on the increase in village building and on the amounts collected locally for schools in 1945-46 may be found in the following files at the i s a : 25, 853/19/27 and 19/36; 854/19/41. 27, 27-2642/G666, G99; 27-2578/A269; 27-2681/S271/1 and 2. 24/1/5-6; 24/1/9; 24/1/13; 24/1/16; 24/1/17; 24/1/19; 24/1/21. 41. "Comments of Sub-Committee Appointed to Consider Chapter VI of Report of the Committee on Development and Welfare Services for Advisory Committee on Education in the Colonies," July 9, 1943- PRO c o 7 3 3 /4 4 7 / 76048/18-20.

196

Notes to Pages 152-158

42. Ag. Dir. of Educ. to all D.C.s and D.I.E.s, Dec. 28, 1945. ISA 27-2642/ G666. 43. Letter to C.S., Jan. 12, 1946. ISA 27-2598/AF401. 44. Dir. of Educ., to C.S., March 2, 1946. ISA 10 129 E/10/46. 45. Ibid. 46. Ag. Dir. of Educ. to all D.C.s and D.I.E.s, Dec. 28, 1945. ISA 27-2642/ G666. 47. Malha Village Committee to Dir. of Educ., July 23, 1947. ISA 65/235 5. 24 /1/24 -26; 24/1/28; 24/1/31; 24/1/33. Tulkarm: 3884/T/9/5; T/9/6; T/9/i; T/9. Information on private village schools is contained in ISA 27, 524/9 and 27-2639/G553/I. 48. D.O. in charge, Jerusalem Rural Subdistrict, to D.C., Jerusalem, Jan. 15, 1946. ISA 25 853/19/9. 49. D.O. to D.C., Jerusalem, July 30, 1946. ISA 25 854/19/41. 50. Secy., Rama Young Men's Union, to Dir. of Educ., March 30, 1946. ISA 27-2642/G666. 51. A.D.C., Tulkarm, to D.C., Samaria, Sept. 17, 1946. ISA 3884/T/9/16. On the policy for opening secondary classes in small towns or villages, see Dir. of Educ., Circular No. 38, Feb. 12, 1941. ISA 10 127 E/5/41; and Ag. C.S. to D.C., Galilee, Sept. 4, 1945. ISA 3883/T/9/5. 52. Mukhtars of Tarshiha to Dir. of Educ., April 24, 1947. ISA 4 Ag. 148/10. 53. For evidence of initiatives in creating joint schools, see: Chairman, Local Educ. Comm., Tantoura, to D.C., Haifa, Dec. 28, 1942. ISA 25 853/ 19/40; A.D.O., Nazareth to A.D.C., Nazareth, Dec. 2, 1937. 27-2642/G666; also, 27, 71/3/38 and 2 1/1/17 . On requests for girls' schools, ISA 27, 24/1/17 and 24/1/3; 3884/T/9; 27-2642/G666. Two instances in which feuds pre­ vented education show the opposite side of the picture. See D.C., Galilee, to C.S., July 10, 1946. ISA 10 128 E/1/46; and Notables, Bi'neh Village, Acre Subdistrict, to H.C., June 10, 1946. ISA 10 128 E/1/46. 54. Mukhtars and elders of Saf-Saf to Dir. of Educ., Aug. 14, 1947. ISA 27-2682/S270. 5 5. Dir. of Educ. to Private Secy., Government House, Jerusalem, Nov. 11 , 1946. ISA 10 129 E/170/46. 56. D.O. to D.C., Galilee, Aug. 20, 1947. ISA 27-2682/S271/2. See also the petition from mukhtars and elders of Mansi, who represented many settled and semisettled tribes, to Asst. D.C., Haifa, Oct. 17, 1946. Among their re­ quests were technical training for boys and the establishment of a girls' school. ISA 27 24/1/17. 57. Dir. of Educ. to all D.C.s, Nov. 8, 1940. ISA 25 853/19/40. 58. A.D.C., Hebron, to D.C., Jerusalem, July 29, 1943. ISA 25 853/19/40. 59. Sheikh Sa'id El Alami to C.S., Dec. n , 1946. ISA 10 129 E/162/46. 60. J. Farrell, "Note on Farm Schools," Dec. 29, 1944. ISA 4 SF/154/44. 61. D.C., Lydda, to C.S., Aug. 20, 1945. ISA 10 128 E/22/45. See also AlMihmaz, Feb. 12, 1946, which quotes Farrell as saying that Palestinian young men with secondary education were incapable of filling government posts. Palestine Press Review, 1946.

Notes to Pages 159-169

197

62. Final report by W. A. Stewart, July 1946. ISA 10 129 E/150/46. 63. "Arab Education in Palestine: Proposals for Greater Degree of Auton­ omy. Arab Advisory Council on Education, 19 46 -4 7." ISA 4 SF/i 13/47. 64. Dir. of Educ. to C.S., Jan. 13, 1947. ISA 4 SF/113/47. 65. H.C. to Col. Secy., Oct. 15, 1945. ISA 4 SF/167/45. Conclusion 1. A. Cohen, Israel and the Arab World (New York: Funk and Wagnalls, i 97°), pp. 168-69. 2. E. Shaufani, "The Fall of a Village," Journal of Palestine Studies I, no. 4 (Summer 1972): 120.

THIS PAGE INTENTIONALLY LEFT BLANK

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Index

Abbasi, Ghaleb, 12 9 - 13 0 Agriculture: Jewish enterprises in, 6, 7; British and Palestine govern­ ment efforts to improve, 7 -8 , 78, 83-84, 88; Arab villagers' desire to improve, 18; modernization of, 23, 27, 140, 14 1, 164; depression in, and its effects, 77, 78, 80, 81, 82; credit for, 78, 8i, 83-84, 85-86; training for, in schools, 10 8 - 110 , 154, 158, 166 Ain Zeitoun (village), 56, 57 Alami, Musa, 170 American University of Beirut, 53, i8 6n .i9 Andrews, Lewis, 13 Anebta (village), 14 5 -14 6 Anglo-American Committee of In­ quiry, 24 Antonius, George, 22, 39-40, 41, 95, 99, 17411.13, i76n.24 Arab Advisory Agency, 36, 37 Arab Advisory Council of Educa­ tion, 159 Arab Bank, 19 Arab Educational Council, 40 Arab Executive, 5, 8, 45, 47 Arab Higher Committee, 11 , 47, 148 Arab League, 16 0 - 1 6 1 Arab nationalists: factionalism among, 4, 6, 13, 17, 45-46, 139, 144, 163; and Ottoman Empire, 4, 17, 33, 34; oppose Zionists and Jewish National Home, 5, 6, 7, 9,

10, 14, 1 7 - 1 8 , 23, 24, 87, 165; op­ pose mandate, 5, 6, 8, 1 7 - 18 , 24, 27; relative success/failure of, 6, 10, 17, 88, 116 , 138, 16 1, 163; and land transfers, 8; relations of, with British and Palestine govern­ ment, 8, 9, 13, 1 7 - 18 , 19 -2 0 , 23, 34 , 36, 55, 87, 160; and Arab Re­ volt, 1 1 - 1 2 , 13, 136; oppose partition of Palestine, 12; and vil­ lagers, 18, 23, 26, 86, 88, 1 1 6 117 , 118 , 125, 16 1, 163; forma­ tion of political movement by, 18, 27, 46; and middle-class Arabs, 25, 164; Christians and Muslims cooperate as, 33, 34, 45, 106, 165; and Arabs in Palestine govern­ ment service, 48, 5 1- 5 2 , 63, 69, 129, 132, 137; and education, 63, 69, 91, 94, 96-97, n o - i n , 129, 160; and boy scouts, 115 ; exclu­ sion of, 123, 140, 14 1, 143; and religion, 124, 125 Arab Revolt, 1 1 - 1 3 , 20, 1 2 1 - 1 3 8 , 157

Arab Women's Congress, 173 n.4 Baden-Powell Boy Scout Organiza­ tion, 114 , 115 Bailey Committee Report on Vil­ lage Administration, 55, 14 5 -14 6 Balfour Declaration, 3, 6, 18, 20, 87, 16 1 Beit Jala Girls' School, 105 Ben Gurion, David, 14

212

Index

Bethlehem, 105 Biltmore program, 14 Bira (village), 24, 76 Bir Zeit (village), 124 "Black letter," io, 19, 87 Bowman, Humphrey, 92, 93, 95, 96, 100, 102, 105, 109, 114 , 1 1 5 - 1 1 6 , 1 5 8 - 15 9 Boy scouts, 1 1 4 - 1 1 5 British: relations of, with Zionists, 3, 4, 7, 8 -10 , 13, 1 4 - 1 5 , 1 7 - 1 8 , 19 -2 0 , 32, 33, 37, 47/ 159, 164, 167; as Palestine mandate admin­ istrators, 3, 5, 9 - 10 , 12, 15, 26, 27, 48, 122, 167; conservative view of role of, in Palestine, 4, 5 -6 , 1 1 , 31, 32, 43, 71, 144 , 145; relations of, with Arabs and Arab nationalists, 4, 7, 8 -10 , 13, 1 7 18, 19 -2 0 , 32, 35 -3 6 , 37, 47, 159, 167; and land transfers, 8, 14, 19; and economic development of Palestine, 8, 77; and partition of Palestine, 1 3 - 1 4 , 167; as officers in Palestine government service, 37, 47, 50, 142; and self-interest of, in Middle East, 122, 168, 170; and education, 152, 156, 1 5 7 158, 15 9 -16 0 . See also Palestine government British Council, 158 Bsisu, Sa'id, 2 0 - 2 1 Bureaucracy (Palestine government), 24, 39 , 4 7 , 7 i, 72, 86-87, 136, 138. See also Civil service Cattan, Henry, 24 Chancellor, John, 8, 9, 50 Christians: in Ottoman Empire, 33, 34; and Muslims, 33, 34, 45, 50, 7 4 -7 5 , 91, 97, 106, 124, 18 5 n.3; and Arab nationalism, 33, 34, 45, 106, 165; in Palestine government service, 37, 50, 52, 64; and educa­ tion, 40, 64, 90, 91, 93, 97, 98, 103, 105, 106, i84n.3, i87n.34, 18 8 n.42; and local or village

councils, 74 -7 5 , 150; hostilities among, 124; urbanization of, 150 Churchill, Winston, 5 Civil service (Palestine govern­ ment), 50, 142, 143, 162. See also Bureaucracy Civil Service Association, 143 Collective Fines Ordinance, 126 Collective Punishment Ordinance,

74, 126 Colonial Office (British govern­ ment), 44, 50, 6 i; and Passfield White Paper, 9; and Arabs in Pal­ estine government service, 37, 49; and education, 42, 92, 95, 99, 10 1, 102; and efforts to establish legislative council, 47 Cooperative societies, 78, 83, 84, 85, 86, i83n .32 Department of Agriculture (Pal­ estine government), n o , 14 1 Department of Education (Palestine government): recruitment, assign­ ment, and supervision of teachers by, 40, 67, 68-69, 113 , 12 9 -13 0 , 152, 153; employment of Arabs by, 48, 62, 63, 69, 12 9 - 13 0 ; con­ trol of local schools by, 66, 9899; efforts of, to keep politics out of schools, 67, 68-69, 92, 97, 100, 1 1 5 - 1 1 6 , 117 ; problems and ultimate failure of, 95, 96, 159; and female education, 105, 107; and technical and agricultural education, 10 8 -10 9 , n o , i n Department of Health (Palestine government), 48 Department of Labor (Palestine gov­ ernment), 140 Department of Public Works (Pal­ estine government), 48 Department of Social Welfare (Pal­ estine government), 140 Diab, Jad Mustafa, 133 District commissioners: and Arabs in Palestine government service,

Index 36 -3 7 , 12 9 - 13 0 ; authority and functions of, 36 -37, 155; and dis­ trict officers, 48, 1 2 9 - 1 3 o; and mukhtars, 60, 61, 147; and local councils, 72, 73, 75, 76-77, 146 District governors. See District commissioners District officers: assignment of, 36; authority and functions of, 41, 48, 4 9-54 , 67-68, 77, 143, 147, 148, 155, i92n.25; Arab nationalist loyalties of, 49, 51, 53, 132; and mukhtars, 49, 52, 53, 57, 60, 61, 133, 147, 148; recruitment of, 50, 51, 5 2 -5 3 , 14 2 - 14 3 ; relations of, with departmental officials, 51, 53; and village needs, 78-79, 8o; and Arab Revolt, 1 3 1 - 1 3 4 , 136 Druzes, 124, 126, 150 Education: local vs. Palestine gov­ ernment control of, 38-39, 40, 4 1- 4 2 , 43, 88, 90, 9 1-9 2 , 99; funding of, 42, 76, 9 0 -10 6 pas­ sim, 15 1, 152, 153, 155, 159; Zionist control of, for Jews, 43, i8 4 n .i; and rural development, 63, 66, 10 1, 105, 109, iio - iii, 112 , 11 7 ; Arab villagers7 access to, 64, 97-98, 100, 10 1, 102, 104, 106, 15 8 -15 9 ; British and Pal­ estine government efforts to im­ prove and extend, 65-66, 91, 9 4 _ 9 5 / 96, io i; Arab villagers' demands for, 66-67, 77, 90, 96, 102, 104, 10 7 -10 8 , 1 1 6 - 1 1 7 , 15 3 - 15 6 , 160, 16 1, 166; as exten­ sion of Palestine government's general policies, 90, 92, 93, 9697, 98, 100, 107, 108, h i , 113 , 1 1 7 - 1 1 8 , 15 7 - 15 8 , 15 9 -16 0 , 16 5 - 16 6 ; factionalism in, 9 0 -9 1, 92-9 5, 96-97, 105, I I 5 - H 7 ; British and Palestine government resistance to overextension of, 97, 10 1, 105, 109, iio - iii, 112 , 117 , 16 5 -16 6 ; for females, 97-98/

213

10 2 -10 8 , 109, 153, 154, i87n.34, i88nn.4i, 42; technical and agri­ cultural training in, 1 0 8 - n o , i n - 1 1 2 , 117 , 154, 15 8 -15 9 ; British and Palestine government shortcomings in, 113 , 156, 1 5 7 160; and boy scouts, 1 1 3 - 1 1 4 , 11 5 . See also Department of Edu­ cation; Schools; Teachers Education Ordinance, 99, 155 Family: in traditional political and socioeconomic relationships, 16, 2 3 -2 4 , 26, 27, 49-50, 59, 75, 122, 15 1, 16 1; decrease in influ­ ence of, 25, 27, 116 , 16 1, 164; and mukhtars, 57, 58-59, 60, 134, 146, 147; and Arab factionalism, 59, 1 2 1 - 1 2 2 , 124, 129, 136, 139, 1 5 1; and status of women, 106, 107 Farradia (village), 65 Farrell, Jerome, 42, 94, 95-96, 99, iio - iii , 15 7 - 15 9 Firim (village), 64 France, 3, 26 French, Lewis, i74 n .io , 18 3 ^ 4 0 French Report, 19, 21, 60, 61, 8 1 82, i83n .32 Government Arab College, 94 Haifa, 86, i n - 112 Haikal, Yusuf, 20 el-Halim, Saleh Abd, 130 Hamulas (clans), 58, 150, 15 1. See also Family Histadrut (General Federation of Jewish Labor), 87 al-Husayni, Haj Amin, 9, 38, 45,

132, 135

al-Husayni, HilmiBey, 132 al-Husayni, Jamal Bey, 22, 132, I7 4n . i 2, i 77n.36

al-Husayni, Musa Kazem Pasha, i77n.36, 185 n .13 al-Husayni family, 6, 23, 45

214

Index

Ibellin (village), 130 Ijzim (village), 58-60, 148 Israel: creation of state of, 15, 167 Istiqlal, i73n .4 Jaffa, 86 al-Jallad, Abdullah, 185 n. 13 al-Jayyusi, Hashim Effendi, 144 Jerusalem, 36, 86 Jewish Agency, 5, 36, 87, 99 Jewish immigration and settlement: mandate provision for, 3, 5, 21, 32; motives for, 3, 10, n , 87; po­ tential limitations on, 5, 9, 10, 11 , 36, 85, 87; ebb and flow of, 6, 7, 1 1 , 19, 84, 87, 122; Arab op­ position to, 6, 11 , 14, 15, 17, 19, 23, 87, 89, 12 1, 169; and eco­ nomic development of Palestine, 6, 2 1, 24, 79, 88, 164; British and Palestine government support for, 21, 36, 79, 87, 164; organization of, 47, 87, 165; effect of, on Arab villagers, 77, 88 Jewish National Council. See Vaad Leumi Jewish National Home: and Balfour Declaration, 3; mandate pro­ vision for, 3, 5, 16, 27; and Jewish Agency, 5; British and Palestine government support for, 5, 32, 33, 36, 144; development of, 7, 10, 11, 79, 84, 158; British efforts to limit, 10, 14, 33, 139; Arab op­ position to, 2 4 -2 5, 12 1, 124; and Jewish state, 32; effect of, on Arab villagers, 79, 158 Jewish nationalists. See Zionists Johnson-Crosbie Report, 81, 18311.32 Jordan, 5, 15, 167 Kadoorie bequest, 92 Kadoorie School of Agriculture, 63, n o , i8on.56 Khalef, Abdullah Judeh, 24 -25 Kheiriya Village School, 155

Kuttabs (Muslim schools), 100 Labor Unions: Zionist, 6, 87; Arab, 10, 14, 140 Landowners, 21, 23; large, 7, 8, 2 1 - 2 2 ; small, 10, 19, 2 1- 2 2 , 8 0 -8 1, 82, 84-85 Land Transfer Regulations, i82n.28 Land transfers: Arab opposition to, 7, 1 1 , 19; British and Palestine government policy on, 8, 9, n , 14, 82, 85, i82n.28; and rural dis­ tress, 11 , 21, 82, 86, 165; and dis­ trict officers, 52; and mukhtars, 56; from small landowners, 8081, 82, 84-85; and Jewish Agen­ cy, 87 Law of Primary Education, 100,

i87n.27 League of Nations, 3, 5, 32 Legislative council: efforts to establish, 5, 8, 9, 1 1 , 35 —36, 37, 38, 47 Local Council Ordinance, 72, 76 Local councils: in Ottoman Empire, 34; and Local Government Com­ mission, 39; establishment of, 72, 149 - 1 5 1 ; powers and functions of, 7 2 -7 3 , 75-76 , 77; problems and failure of, 73, 74 -75, 78, 90, 145, i8 in .3 ; Christian vs. Mus­ lim participation in, 7 4 -7 5 ; and municipal councils, 76 -77; and notables, 79. See also Village councils Local Government Bill, 77 Local Government Commission, 38 -4 3, 45, 99 MacDonald, Ramsay, 10 MacDonald letter. See "Black letter" MacMichael, Sir Harold, 14 1, 145 Ma'dhar (village), 5 5-5 6 el-Madi family, 58-59 Malha Village School, 153 Mandate. See Palestine mandate Mandatory administration. See Pal­

estine government

Index Men's Training College, 64 M icilya (village), 169 M illet system, 33, 34 Miqveh Yisrael Agricultural School,

215

45-46, 72, 79, 82, 137, 148, 165; relations of, with district offi­ cers, 49, 54, 58; relations of, with mukhtars, 57, 58

no Moody, Sidney, 4 1- 4 2 Moslem Education Committee, 99 Mukhtars (village headmen), 48, 72, 1 5 1; and district officers, 49, 52, 53, 57, 60, 61, 133; in Ottoman Empire, 5 4 -5 5 ; selection of, 55, 57, 58-59, 61, 14 6 -14 8 ; re­ sponsibilities and functions of, 55-6 2, 74, 134, 146, 155; and Arab Revolt, 13 4 - 13 6 , 146, 14 7 148; status of, 135, 146; Bailey Committee evaluation of, 145, 14 6 - 14 7 Municipal Corporations Ordinance, 76, 146 Municipal councils, 76-77, 143 Municipal Franchise Ordinance, 44 Municipal Ordinance, 19 4 ^ 22 Muslim Brotherhood, 93-94 Muslim Christian Society, 5 5 Muslims: in Ottoman Empire, 33, 34; and Christians, 33, 34, 45, 91, 97-98, 124; and Arab nation­ alism, 33, 34, 45, 106, 165; politi­ cal representation and organi­ zation of, 35, 37 -38 , 7 4 - 75 , 150; in Palestine government service, 37, 49, 50, 51/ 52, 53, 64; and edu­ cation, 40, 91, 93-94, 97-98, 10 1, 103, 10 5 -10 7 , I I O - I I I , i87n.34, i88nn.4i, 42; urban­ ization of, 86, 150; and Druzes, 124, 126 Nashashibi, Regheb Bey, 45 Nashashibi family, 6, 23, 45 National Fund, 19, 170 Notables, 8, 9, 124; defined, 16; status and functions of, 16 - 1 7 , 34, 74, 7 7-78 , 148; relations of, with villagers, 23-2 4 , 27, 170; and Palestine government, 34,

O'Donnell Commission Report, 50, 10 1, 102 Ottoman Empire, 4, 17, 26, 31, 83; notables in, 1 6 - 1 7 ; civil admin­ istration of Palestine by, 3 3 -3 5 ; administration of Muslim in­ stitutions by, 37 -3 8 ; precedents from, influencing Palestine gov­ ernment, 37 -38 , 40, 41, 44, 5 4 - 55 , 57 , 7 i, 73 Palestine Arab Congress, 18 Palestine government: essentially administrative nature of, 4, 5-6 , 7, 71, 87, 1 6 1 - 1 6 2 ; as Arab/ Jewish mediator, 4, 5 -6 , 88; as emerging state mechanism, 4, 2 7-28 , 139, 156; Arab attitude toward, 7, 23, 31, 32, 35 -36 , 38, 45, 49, 117 , 163, 166, 167, 169; effect of, on village life, 8, 21, 23, 24, 26, 32, 71, 72, 76, 78, 88, 118, 122, 140, 1 4 1 - 1 4 5 , 14 8 -14 9 , 16 1, 162, 163, 16 4 -16 5 , 166, 168, 169; support of, for Zionists and Jewish National Home, 21, 32, 79, 144, 163; Arabs in service of, 27, 37, 45, 4 7 - 4 8 , 4 9 , 5 i, 7 0 , 71, 108, n o , 112 , 117 , 124, 125, 12 8 - 13 6 , 140, 16 1, 163, 164, 165, 166, 167; as extension of British government, 27, 43; administra­ tive divisions of, 36; and develop­ ment of self-government, 4 3-45, 72, 88; Jews in service of, 47; ex­ penditures of, 77, 98, 152, 153, 159; and economic development, 79, 83, 85-86, 88; and education, 88, 90, 96-97, 98, 100, 107, 108, i n , 152, 153, 156, 15 7 - 16 0 (see also Department of Education); and Arab Revolt, 123, 124, 1 2 5 138

216

Index

Palestine government officials. See Bureaucracy; Civil service; Dis­ trict commissioners; District officers; Mukhtars; Teachers Palestine mandate, 4, 23, 26, 95; British administration of, 3, 5, 6, 24, 33, 36; Arab opposition to, 3 -4 , 5, 6, 8, 12, 1 7 - 1 8 , 24 -25, 27, 35; and Jewish immigration and National Home, 3, 5, 14, 16, 2 1, 2 4 -2 5, 32; Zionist view of, 6; Britain's dual obligation under, 6, 12, 33, 36, 88, 90; and develop­ ment of self-government, 38, 40, 45

Palestinian nationalism. See Arab nationalists Partition of Palestine, 12, 13 - 1 4 , 15, 123, 124, 167, 170 Passfield, Lord, 9 Passfield White Paper, 9 - 10 , 19, 20, 87 Peel, Earl, 12 Peel Commission. See Royal (Peel) Commission Permanent Mandates Commission (League of Nations), 14 Phillips, I. L., 15 1 Plumer, Lord, 44-45, 9 1-9 2 Political parties (Arab), 10, 19, 87,

i 73n.4

Protection of Cultivators Ordi­ nances, 82, 182 n.28 Public Affairs Office (Gaza), 156 Qubab, 84-85 Rama (village), 1 5 3 - 1 5 4 Rameh (village) Local Council, 75 ar-Rashid, Hajj Ibrahim, 170 Religion: in traditional political and socioeconomic relationships, 16, 23, 24, 26, 27, 16 1; and Arab na­ tionalism, 17, 33, 12 4 - 12 5 , 166; decrease in influence of, 27, 16 1, 164, 166; and government, 3 4 35, 134, 146, 15 1; and education,

91, 92, 93, 100, 103, 105, 107, 116 , 15 9 - 16 0 ; and Arab Revolt, 123; and Arab factionalism, 12 4 125, 136, 15 1. See also Chris­ tians; Druzes; Muslims Religious Communities Ordinance, 35, i8 4 n .i Ridler, Helen, 103 Rimawi, Kassem Effendi, 148 Riots: of 1929, 8-9 , 50, 114 ; of 1933, 1 1 . See also Arab Revolt Roads, 18, 73, 77 Royal (Peel) Commission, 19, 22, 95, 106; formation of, 12; recom­ mends partition of Palestine, 12, 123; and education, 95, 96; and Arabs in Palestine government service, 128, 129; and village selfgovernment, 146, i8 in .3 Rural Property Tax studies, 61 Rural Teachers Training Center, 63,

i 8on .56 Rural Women Teachers Training Center, 104 Sabbarin (village), 130 Safad, 115 Saf-Saf (village), 126, 155 Sakakini, Khalil, 177 n.36 Salfit (village), 15 1 Samakh (village), 148, 149 Samuel, Herbert, 5 -6 , 3 2 -3 3 , 42; and reconciliation of Arabs to Pal­ estine government, 36, 37, 38, 47, 49, 50, 80; and Zionists, 36, 8o; and local government, 38 -39, 42, 45, 17 7 n.36; and education, 91, 99, 18 4 ^ 3 Schools: separate systems of, 6, 40, 69; Jewish, 6, 62, 87, 91, 94, 97; Arab villagers' demands for, 18, 153, i8 8n .4 i; local vs. Palestine government control of, 52, 9899; local funding and construc­ tion of, 78, 98, 99, 100, 102, 152, 1 5 3/ 159; geographic distribution of, 86, 99; private (Arab), 91, 94,

Index 100, 109, 156; Christian access to, 91, 97, 98; Muslim access to, 91, 97-98; missionary, 94, ioo; neglect of Arab culture in, 95, 96, 11 3 ; growth of, in villages, 100, 104, 153, 154; girls7, 10 3 -10 4 , 117 , 153, 154, i87n.34, i88n.4i Self-government: mandate provision for progress toward, 38, 40, 45; Palestine government's gradual approach to implementation of, 4 3-4 5 , 76, 77, 99, 13 9 -14 0 , 143, 14 5 - 14 7 , 148, i8 in .3 Seventh Palestinian Congress, 8 Shaw, Walter, 9 Shaw Commission Report, 9, 19, 83, 84, 85, 87-88, 10 1 Shefa Amr (village), 126 Sheikhs, 54, 55 Shihadeh, Sa'di Muhammad, 68 al-Sifri, Isa, 2 0 - 2 1 Simpson, John Hope, 9, 10 1, 18 3 ^ 4 Simpson Report, 19, 60, 87-88, 10 1, i83n.32 Stewart, W. A., i n Strickland, C. F., 60, 61, 10 1, i

83n .40

Supreme Muslim Council, 38, 45, 58-59, 60, i8 4n .i, i87n.34 Symes, Ronald, 37, 80 Tamimi, R., 156 Tantoura (village), 73 Tarshiha (village), 149, 154 Taxes: to support education, 40, 42, 43/ 76, 99; district officers and collection of, 49, 5 0 -5 1, 52; mukhtars and collection of, 58, 6o, 61, 78; priority given to col­ lection of, 7 1; and local councils, 72; to support public works, 73; popular resistance to, 77, 81, 84, 99 Teachers: control of, 40, 113 ; role of, in implementing Palestine government education policy, 48-49, 62-6 3, 67, 166; demands

217

on and activities of, 63-65, 6669, 98, 104, 152, 166; recruitment and training of, 63, 64, 66-67, 94/ 10 1, 10 3 -10 4 , 106, 107, n o , i n , 116 , 1 5 2 - 15 3 , i8on.55, i88n.42; and Arab nationalism, 63, 66, 67, 68, 69, 114 , 12 9 - 13 0 ; Jewish, 69; women as, 10 3 -10 4 , 10 5 -10 6 ; assignment of, 105, 130 Tira (village), 73 Tithe, 5 0 -5 1, 52, 58, 80, 84, 85 Totah, Khalil, 96, 106, 18 5 n .18 Transfer of Land Ordinances, i82n.28 Trans-Jordan. See Jordan Tulkarm, 14 3 - 14 4 Tuqan, Suleiman, 143 United Nations, 15, 167 United States, 3, 14, 15 Vaad Leumi (Jewish National Council), 35, 87, i8 4n .i Vilayet Law, 34, 39, 55 Village Administration Ordinance, 147, 14 9 - 15 0 Village councils, 55, 146, 150. See also Local councils Village Roads and Works Ordinance, 73

Wadi Sarar (village), 127 Wailing Wall riots, 8-9, 50, 114 War of 19 47-19 48 , 15 Wauchope, Arthur, 82, 84-85, 95,

145

Weizmann, Chaim, 10 White Paper: of 1922, 5; of 1930, 9 - 10 , 19, 20, 87; of 1939, 14, 137, 139, l6 l, 162 Women, 19. See also Education: for females Women's Elementary Training Col­ lege, 103, 18 7 ^ 34 , i88n.42 World War II: effect of, on Palestine, 14 0 - 14 1 , 149, 152, 158, 160 World Zionist Organization, 6, 32

218

Index

Yishuv. See Jewish immigration and settlement Young Men's Muslim Associations, I 7 3 n -4 Young Turk Revolution, 33, 34 Youth groups: Zionist, 6; Arab, 10, 19, 87, 1 1 4 - 1 1 5 Zionists, 7, 9, 24, 83; and Balfour Declaration, 3, 6; relations of, with British and Palestine govern­

ment, 3, 6, 9, io, 1 4 - 1 5 , 19, 32, 35, 36, 47, 80, 94, 96, 163; Arab opposition to, 4, 10, 16, 18, 20, 22, 23, 35, 165; and Jewish Na­ tional Home, 6, n , 14, 36; as organizers and spokesmen of the Yishuv, 21, 32, 43, 47, 87. See also Jewish Agency; Jewish Na­ tional Home; Vaad Leum i} World Zionist Organization