The Marxist Underground
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telephone her husband. She arranged for an appointment
the American Bar.
"But how will I recognize your husband?" I asked.
"Him I tell how you look," she said. "Him come to you
American Bar."
As I was leaving, little Stalin left the dishpan and ran
me for more candy. "Go ask your namesake for it," I said.
haven't any more."
at
in
to
"I
The American Bar proved to be a crowded cafeteria. As I
browsed conspicuously just inside the door, a bulky darkhaired, dark-featured man approached me.
"Valias Amerikan?" he said.
"You Fadhi el Ramli?" I asked.
"Aywa, aywa, yes, yes," he said, and I followed him to his
table. Sitting there was a short intense Arab named Saleh
Orabi, editor of Telegraf magazine, in Khartoum in the Sudan.
He served as translator.
"The Communists could be the first party in Egypt because
of the poverty of the masses," Ramli said. "The people listen
to the Communists but are still afraid of the police. The
workers are different. They have more courage. Eighty per
cent of the labor leaders of Egypt are Communist."
"How do you define a Communist?" I asked.
"One who is a Marxist and believes in the Marxist revolution of workers. I am a Communist."
How about the "Socialist Front" under which he had (unsuccessfully) run for public office? Oh, that? That, said Ramli,
was a device used to circumvent a law prohibiting Communists from holding office. Ramli was now advocating an
"armed struggle against British imperialism." He emphasized
that it was not directed against the Egyptian government.
"But it has the same effect," Egypt's Communist added.
"Every circumstance has its technique."
I asked if he believed violence was inevitable.