In the spring of 1860, political tensions in Mount Lebanon burst into flame. The heat was soon felt in Damascus, and the Emir Abd el-Kader found himself in the midst of it.
For centuries the people of the mountain had enjoyed a high level of independence. While ruling themselves quite effectively, they were careful to pay their taxes to the Ottoman Empire. For this reason, and the extremely rugged terrain, the Turks had never tried to impose control over the mountain the same way they had over all the surrounding Arab lands. Everything changed, however, in the first half of the nineteenth century. The main causes were social and political developments within Mount Lebanon itself, and the influence of outside powers.
In the northern part of the mountain range lived the Maronite Christians, who followed a form of Roman Catholicism and had long been supported by France. For decades they had been moving south into the part of the mountain populated mostly by the Druze—who were backed by Great Britain, just to keep things more or less balanced. The Maronites, who outnumbered the Druze, were increasing in power, and the Druze felt threatened. The Ottomans saw this growing clash as a chance for them to step in and gain more control.
Under these conditions, violence was probably inevitable. In late May of 1860, many thousands of people were slaughtered, and scores of villages and monasteries destroyed. The Druze were the better fighters, and the Christians suffered the greater losses. Ottoman soldiers, sent supposedly to keep order, joined in against the Christians, killing and looting. Around five thousand Christians, mostly women and children, managed to escape to Damascus. There they were sheltered in Christian homes and churches, inevitably adding to the badly over-crowded conditions in that city. Morale was low and tension high, which gave rise to all sorts of rumors.
Although the situation in Damascus was influenced by the trouble in Mount Lebanon, the players and causes were different. The pressure of European interests, both political and economic, had been growing for years. The economy of Syria, and especially Damascus, was affected badly, with local markets and industries forced to give way to European goods. By the middle of the nineteenth century, people were feeling hurt by changes in land ownership, trade, manufacturing, taxation, social developments, and, of course, rising food prices.
The Ottoman administration, which had its own worries, did not help. Its empire, now nearly six hundred years old, was crumbling, and European powers were eagerly waiting for the chance to divide up the remains. With the loss of Greece, Egypt, and Algeria, the Turks tightened their hold on the Arab countries. In this situation the Turkish governor of Damascus, Ahmad Pasha, apparently decided to use the old strategy of “divide and conquer.” He could strengthen his support among the Muslims and Druze by turning them against the Christians.
Throughout Syria and Palestine, the Christians were a minority tolerated under Ottoman rule and guaranteed certain rights, so long as they behaved themselves. In the years leading up to 1860 their status had become both more privileged and more endangered, especially because of changes that followed the end of the Crimean War in 1856.
In return for supporting the Ottomans against Russia during the Crimean War, the European powers had imposed certain demands on their ally. Most problematic was the decree that all Christians in the Ottoman Empire should have equal rights with Muslims: civil, political, and military. To many Muslims, the very idea of Christians being officially equal to them was insulting. They hated the new ruling all the more because it was imposed by the interfering and threatening European powers. European support for the Christian communities, many people believed, would open the Arab countries to ever more foreign pressure. In this time of decline, weakness, and confusion in the Muslim world, unscrupulous leaders could easily use the Christians as a scapegoat to blame for all the troubles.
The Christians of Damascus, mostly Greek Orthodox and Greek Catholic, numbered about fifteen thousand out of a total population of around one hundred and sixty thousand. They had naturally welcomed the new reform that gave them equal rights—but some forgot the wise precaution of continuing to behave modestly. In the eyes of many Muslims, they flaunted their new status too boastfully. And there was one matter on which some Christians clearly went too far: they refused to pay their taxes.
Formerly, minorities had been prohibited from serving in the Ottoman army—which was the last thing they wanted to do anyway—and were obliged to pay a tax instead. Under the new rules both Christians and Muslims had to pay a tax to avoid conscription, but the tax on Muslims was much higher. And now some Christians argued that they would no longer pay any tax at all. While the Turks did not really want Christians in the army, they did want the tax money. In 1860, therefore, the Ottoman governor of Damascus decided to make the Christians pay four years’ worth of taxes, a heavy burden for many families. Some Christians refused, and their attitude deeply offended many Muslims. It was like a spark in dry grass.
This was the time in his life that Abd el-Kader had intended to devote to peaceful pursuits such as prayer, teaching, and charitable deeds. He might have turned his back on the growing tensions in Damascus: it would not have been unreasonable. Yet he could not escape the world around him, or the role that fate seemed to have cut out for him. Nor did he choose to.
In March 1860, he picked up alarming rumors. It looked like the governor of Damascus, Ahmad Pasha, along with some leaders from the city’s Muslims and the Druze villages nearby, were plotting to “correct” the arrogant Christians of Damascus. “Correcting,” in that sense, typically included bloodshed.
Fortunately, Abd el-Kader had a strong ally in the French consul, Monsieur Lanusse. He went directly to Lanusse with this information, hoping that the European consuls would confront Ahmad Pasha and persuade him to cancel the plot. Lanusse found the other consuls—from Britain, Russia, Austria, Greece, and Prussia (Germany)—highly skeptical. Nonetheless they designated the Greek consul, who knew Turkish, to talk with the governor. Ahmad Pasha denied the rumors and assured the consuls that there was no cause for concern.
The conspirators laid low for a while. In the meantime, Abd el-Kader instructed his Algerians to be alert and try to stop any talk they heard against the Christians. When Abd el-Kader himself tried to talk with the mufti and other religious leaders, he was rebuffed. Many were envious of this much-admired newcomer and had no interest in cooperating with him.
By early May, aware that Christians were going into hiding or leaving the city, Abd el-Kader was sure that the plot was still alive. Again he went to see Lanusse. Again Lanusse appealed to the other consuls, and this time they all went—although reluctantly—to see Ahmad Pasha. Again the governor denied any problem. He did remark, however, that the Christians were acting rebelliously. He would do what he could, but if there should be a large outbreak of violence, his troops would not be able to control it. The consuls were apparently satisfied with this run-around.
Then came the massacres in Mount Lebanon and the flood of terrified Christian refugees—topped off by wild rumors about Christians planning to attack the Muslims! In June, at Abd el-Kader’s urging, Lanusse again talked with the consuls, but this time they simply laughed at his fears.
Now Abd el-Kader took a more active role. He went several times to see Ahmad Pasha, arguing that an attack on the Christians would not only be cowardly but against the laws of both Islam and humanity. The Christians had no arms, no military experience, no way to defend themselves. Abd el-Kader declared, “I will go and put myself with the cavalry in the midst of the Christian quarter, and there I will fight as long as I have breath. I will die, if necessary, for the honor of Islam, whose law forbids crimes of this nature.”1
The Emir also reached out to the Druze—who had given him such a warm welcome five years earlier but now appeared to be part of the plot. He sent the Druze leaders a firm but careful letter saying, “Some of your horsemen have already been pillaging in the vicinity of Damascus. Such actions are unworthy of a community distinguished for its good sense and sound policy.”2
At the same time, Abd el-Kader decided to be prepared for trouble. He asked Lanusse to use his special diplomatic privileges to buy all the arms and ammunition he could; the French consul promptly did so and turned them over to the Algerians. The Emir told his men who lived outside Damascus to come into the city, in groups small enough to avoid notice. He urged them to keep trying to persuade people in the city to keep the peace. He talked with every leader he could, from the municipal council of Damascus to village shaykhs. Again he tried to reason with the religious leaders, only to get another cold shoulder.
By now the governor, Ahmad Pasha, was growing nervous. The European powers would hold him responsible, Lanusse had warned him, if harm came to the Christians. He moved his family to the citadel, a large fortified area near the center of the city. Then, as he had promised Abd el-Kader, he sent troops to the Christian quarter—but they turned their guns on the Christians, rather than the direction from which attacks might come. Some of the Christians tried to appease the soldiers with food and gifts, and others wisely made their escape from Damascus. Finally Ahmad Pasha tried to persuade the Druze leaders outside the city to hold off. But it was too late. All of Damascus was waiting for an incident to light the fuse.
That incident started on Sunday, July 8, 1860, when a few Muslim boys drew crosses on the pavement in the Christian quarter, then spat and scattered trash on them and forced passing Christians to stamp on them. (Accounts vary as to the details.) The Christians complained to the governor, and he—suspiciously ready to cooperate—had the culprits arrested and beaten. The next day the boys were publicly taken to the spot and forced to clean the pavement. An outraged mob quickly formed, ready for action. The whole incident was apparently contrived to look as though Ahmad Pasha was trying to protect the Christians, while actually enraging the Muslims.
And it worked. It touched off one of the most infamous events of modern Middle Eastern history, a week-long nightmare of destruction, looting, and wholesale murder. While Abd el-Kader’s role in trying to avert trouble was vital, his actions in the midst of the conflagration made an even more remarkable story.
Knowing that the international representatives would be prime targets of a mob enraged against western influences, Abd el-Kader sent messengers to the consuls who lived or had offices in the Christian quarter, urging them to come immediately to his house. In person he went to the French consulate, which was already surrounded by a mob, and took Lanusse back with him. The British consul, thinking his house safe, stayed until he received a warning; then he got a message delivered to Abd el-Kader, who promptly sent out another rescue mission.
The Russian consulate had already been looted when Abd el-Kader and two of his sons reached it, and the people either murdered or vanished. At the Greek consulate, the Algerians found some three hundred refugees and escorted them all to Abd el-Kader’s house. A French doctor with them wrote later, “In those indescribable moments of anguish, heaven, however, sent us a savior! Abd el-Kader appeared, surrounded by his Algerians, around forty of them. He was on horseback and without arms, his handsome figure calm and imposing.”3
The American vice-consul, Dr. Michael Mishaqa, had a drama of his own. When a mob came to his house, he escaped by the garden, scattering gold coins to distract his pursuers as he ran through the streets. Disguised as a North African, but beaten and bloody, he was finally brought to Abd el-Kader’s house and reunited with his family. He recorded his experiences later in a lively history of the area, a book that he entitled Murder, Mayhem, Pillage, and Plunder.
Abd el-Kader had about a thousand of his own men, many of them former fighters, armed and ready. Now they gave top priority to rescuing the Christians.
Horrendous destruction had already swept through the Christian quarter. The Damascus mob—which had started as rabble mostly from the lowest classes—was soon joined by Muslims and Druze from outside the city, crazy with excitement and greedy for the spoils. The rioters first targeted the houses of rich Christians, seizing everything that could be carried away, down to the woodwork and tiles. Before long the whole Christian quarter was burning. Some women and children tried to escape the flames by running across the flat housetops, leaping over spaces between them. Churches, houses, and shops were all looted, and many people murdered.
In the midst of this chaos, Abd el-Kader himself went hurrying through the streets, calling to the Christians to follow him to safety. He described his actions in a letter written on July 18, 1860, which was eventually translated from the Arabic and published by the New York Times. “Seeing matters were so desperate,” he wrote, “I lost no time in taking under my protection these unfortunate Christians. I sallied forth, taking my Algerians with me, and we were able to save the lives of men, women, and children, and bring them home with us.”4 He also sent groups of his armed men to search through the Christian quarter, shouting, “We are Abd el-Kader’s men, don’t be afraid! We’ve come to save you.” People emerged from wherever they had tried to find shelter, many filthy from having hidden in drains and wells. A stream of refugees began to find their way to Abd el-Kader’s huge house.
It appears from the various accounts that, despite the mob “in a state of frenzy,” as Abd el-Kader described them, he and his men were not given any real trouble as they went about their rescue missions. The Algerians’ reputation for having fought jihad in their home country still carried weight with the Muslims.
A few incidents stand out in the often confused descriptions of those days of violence. On one of his missions Abd el-Kader went to a Franciscan monastery and urged the monks to come with him. Afraid of treachery, they refused—only to die a little later when their house was torched by the mob. Another rescue attempt had a much better outcome. At an orphanage, fortunately outside the Christian quarter, the Sisters of Charity nuns and Lazarist fathers quickly marshaled their students, many barefoot but in uniform. Abd el-Kader and his sons, with armed Algerians on each side, led a procession of a few hundred children, plus the nuns and monks, to safety in the Emir’s house.
What about the forces of law and order, while all this was going on? Abd el-Kader found no help from the religious leaders. When he hurried to the home of the mufti, early in the outbreak of violence, he was told firmly that the mufti was having his nap and could not be disturbed. Worse still, the Ottoman governor took no action. On that point, individuals who survived and described the riots were in total agreement. Some of the governor’s soldiers joined in the looting and even turned their guns and bayonets on people trying to escape the fires. As the governor had warned Abd el-Kader, these troops were hardly the cream of the Ottoman army; but clearly, neither were they under any instructions to restore order. One Turkish commander who did try to stop the rioters was charged with insubordination.
For several nights Abd el-Kader slept on a mat at the entrance of his house, so that no one seeking refuge would be turned away. At dawn on the third day of the riots, July 11th, he confronted a large mob who knew that he was sheltering Christians and had come to his house demanding blood. According to the reports of this scene, the Emir stood before the men and waited until they finally quieted down. He appealed to the “law of God” and their own sense of humanity. Had they sunk so low in honor, he argued, that they wanted to slaughter defenseless women and children?
The mob still shouted for the Christians and even mocked Abd el-Kader, saying that he himself had been a “great killer of Christians.”
“If I slew Christians,” the Emir answered, “it was in accordance with law. They were invading our land and fighting against our faith. If you won’t listen to me, then you are like beasts in the field, caring only for your food.”
Still the crowd yelled for blood, until Abd el-Kader said, “These Christians are my guests. Try to take one of them, and you’ll learn how well my soldiers fight. We will fight for a just cause, just as we did before!”5
He called for his horse and weapons. As he mounted, his men surrounded him, brandishing their own rifles and shouting “Allahu akbar! God is the greatest!” Intimidated, the mob gradually gave up and melted away. Abd el-Kader must have felt both relief and bitter disappointment, as he saw his threat of force win out over his appeal to reason and mercy.
All this while, Abd el-Kader’s men kept patrolling the Christian quarter and bringing more people to his house. Although the refugees were now safe, they were suffering in the midsummer heat. Nobody kept track of numbers, but there may have been as many as four thousand men, women, and children by that time, packed into the Emir’s house and courtyard without food and water, let alone sanitation. Abd el-Kader sent some to the homes of his brothers and friends, but conditions were still intolerable.
Finally he made a difficult decision: he appealed to Ahmad Pasha. The governor, by now fully aware of the horrors he had unleashed and the price he might personally have to pay later, offered to let the Christians come to the citadel. They would not be protected by Turkish soldiers, he promised, but by Abd el-Kader’s Algerians.
The Christians, however, were horrified as the very thought of leaving their haven and begged Abd el-Kader not to send them out into the streets again. Abd el-Kader swore that he would defend them with his own life. Two of the consuls staying in the Emir’s house volunteered to accompany the first group, and an armed Algerian guard was ready. Although many of the refugees still had to be dragged, they did reach the citadel in safety, and thereafter the Christians went with more confidence. Before long the citadel’s large open courtyard was full of people, safe but suffering, as there was no shelter from the sun and very little food or water.
With his spacious house mostly emptied, Abd el-Kader went right back to rescuing more Christians. This time he used a different strategy, spreading word that anyone who brought a Christian refugee safely to his house would receive a monetary award. It worked, and for a few more days Abd el-Kader stayed close to his entrance, handing out coins to those who cooperated. Whenever a group of a hundred refugees had been gathered, they were taken to the citadel.
By the week’s end, the fires of mass hysteria were burning out. The violent phase of this event—the worst sectarian conflict that Damascus or any other Arab city had experienced—was almost over. Accurate numbers of those killed could not be determined, but estimates of several thousand dead were probably reasonable, including people who later died of wounds and sickness. Unquestionably, the numbers would have been much, much higher without the efforts of Abd el-Kader and his Algerians. A common estimate is that eleven or twelve thousand Christians were saved in this way from almost certain death.6
The great majority of the Muslims of Damascus did not join in or approve of the riots. Earlier, many of the better educated Muslims had tried to dampen the rising tension. Now, horrified by the violence, they took in their Christian neighbors, often at risk to themselves. The massacre, fire, and destruction were actually confined to the Christian quarter, an area only about a third of a square mile. In another part of the city, where Christians lived as a minority among Muslims, there was little or no trouble, thanks to good leadership by Muslims and careful behavior on the Christians’ part.
What became of the thousands of destitute refugees? The Christian quarter was totally destroyed—they had no homes left. Some people from the upper classes stayed for a while with Abd el-Kader and other Algerian families, or possibly with Christians in other parts of Damascus or in outlying villages. A great many people, however, had to remain for weeks in the citadel under grim conditions. Fortunately, the Turkish official in charge was a compassionate man and did the best he could.
Since there was no support for them in Damascus, many of the refugees set out for Beirut. At least three thousand, escorted in groups by Abd el-Kader’s Algerians, crossed the two mountain ranges to the sea, most of them on foot. In Beirut, where foreign warships had arrived in response to the troubles in Mount Lebanon, they had a better chance of international attention and protection. Charitable groups such as American, British, and other missionaries could also offer some help, although their resources were already badly stretched by the thousands of refugees from Mount Lebanon.
As for the governor of Damascus, Ahmad Pasha, he was replaced with amazing speed. On July 16, 1860, just one week after the trouble started, the new governor arrived and tried to restore order. The situation remained extremely tense and dangerous.
By the second half of July, news of the riots and massacres had reached newspapers in Europe and the United States. The international reaction was quick. France and other European powers proposed to send a military force to Damascus—doubtless for reasons partly humanitarian but also plainly political. The Ottoman government knew that such an expedition would lead to further international pressures and even occupation, so they lost no time in planning a counter-move.
A highly respected Turkish diplomat, Fuad Pasha, had already been sent to deal with Mount Lebanon. By the time he got to Beirut, the trouble in Damascus presented him with an even bigger problem. On July 29th, accompanied by three thousand Ottoman soldiers, he entered Damascus with a show of force intended to convince both the people of Damascus and the international powers that he was completely in charge.
Fuad Pasha consulted efficiently with the European consuls and military officers, and also with Abd el-Kader. He then set up a special tribunal to arrest, try, and punish the perpetrators of violence—based largely on the memories of people who had experienced that violence. The tribunal made a list of some four thousand six hundred names and eventually narrowed it down to three hundred and fifty individuals, of whom three hundred and thirty-eight were found guilty. Not surprisingly, most of the one hundred and eighty-one executed by public hanging were from the lower classes, while the one hundred and fifty-seven more important individuals were sentenced to exile.
Ahmad Pasha, who had served as governor of Damascus for only a troubled six months, faced a firing squad. The extent and exact nature of his guilt is still somewhat uncertain; but whatever his actual role in the plot, clearly he did nothing to prevent or try to control the “murder, mayhem, pillage, and plunder.”
As the fall season moved on, life slowly began to return to normal. The last refugees left the citadel in late September, and the Christian quarter was sufficiently cleaned up for rebuilding to start by January of 1861. Fuad Pasha also tried to deal with the immensely complicated matter of evaluating Christians’ losses and determining compensation—while always on guard to prevent foreign criticism and intervention.
How to explain such a vicious outbreak of sectarian violence in Damascus? Accusations flew in many directions. Plotting by the Ottomans? Or by either Great Britain or France, or both, to extend their political and economic influence in Syria? As for the Muslims, many of the violent looters were not residents of Damascus but came from outside, almost as if organized like a hired mob. In any case, rebelliousness, anger, and confusion were abroad in the land, just waiting to ignite.
And what about the Christians and their unwise behavior in a situation already very dangerous? The American vice-consul, Mishaqa, a Christian himself, pointed out that a minority with little power, living in a time and place of tension, should remember to defer to the powerful.
Abd el-Kader, too, took a serious view of the Christians’ responsibility. They should have obeyed the law and paid their taxes, the relatively small amount that exempted them from military service. Even if the government is harsh, Abd el-Kader believed, the law must be obeyed. For government to function, authority must be respected and taxes paid. He knew the truth of that very well, from his own struggle to consolidate the Algerian tribes and create a new government.
Although other Muslims also rescued Christians in danger, Abd el-Kader played a unique and crucial role. He had tried repeatedly to warn the European consuls of the plot, and had warned Ahmad Pasha to stop before it was too late. He had mobilized his Algerians, urging them to encourage peace and tolerance, while at the same time preparing for the worst. He organized and directed a large-scale rescue mission day after day, venturing out in the dangerous streets and at times confronting the mob himself. He turned his own home into a refugee camp, not resting until thousands of desperate persons of all ages were as safely cared for as possible under extremely difficult conditions. His determination to keep going and to be wherever he was needed was like a reprise of his years as a resistance fighter in the countryside of Algeria.
Throughout Europe and the United States, the press and the public were as fascinated by reports of Abd el-Kader’s role as they were horrified by the actual events. Now the image of the Emir as a protector of Christians overshadowed the vivid images of earlier years—first, the fierce opponent of Christian France, later the “desert hawk” unjustly imprisoned. The New York Times wrote: “It is no light thing for history to record that the most uncompromising soldier of Mohammedan [Muslim] independence . . . became the most intrepid guardian of Christian lives. . . .”7
The world saw Abd el-Kader as a hero almost without equal. He, however, saw his role in a different light. This is one of the most significant aspects of Abd el-Kader’s actions in the Damascus riots. It was not desire for more fame that motivated him, or some form of reproach to the Ottomans, and certainly not a wish to gain still more favor from France. Rather, the Emir explained that he tried to save innocent lives because it was not only the morally right, humane thing to do, but the way to obey God’s will. “These motives amounted to a sacred duty. I was simply an instrument,” he said, as reported in the French press. In a personal letter he summed it up: “What we did for the Christians, we did to be faithful to Islamic law and out of respect for human rights.”8
Nothing as extraordinary as Abd el-Kader’s rescuing of the Christians, however, could have just one explanation. In spite of all he had said about putting political matters behind him, he remained a very perceptive political observer. He knew that attacks on the Christians of Syria would open the door to increased interference by European powers. Indeed, he had tried to get that warning across in the midst of the riots, shouting at the mob to think about what their “crazy behavior” would lead to. And he knew that if it came to open hostilities between the European powers and the Muslims of Syria, both the Turks and the local people, he would be caught in the middle. Abd el-Kader did not want to have a choice of that sort forced upon him.
There was another underlying reason. Abd el-Kader believed that Islam, the religion he followed so devoutly, needed to be restored and strengthened in the hearts of its believers. He wrote: “All the religions of the book [Islam, Christianity, and Judaism] rest on two principles—to praise God and to have compassion for his creatures. . . . The law of Mohammed places the greatest importance on compassion and mercy. . . . But those who belong to the religion of Mohammed have corrupted it, which is why they are now like lost sheep.”9 His own efforts, he must have hoped, could set an example of how a true Muslim lives his or her faith.