Beirut: Farewell to the Arabs
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the Roman Catholic Maronite Church, as well as the articulate and telling voice of the Armenian minority—100,000 in
Lebanon's population of 1,250,000. A leading seaport of the
Middle East, Beirut was the playground and free-for-all mart,
the gateway for the Arab world and the last stronghold of the
West, and of Christianity in the Arab Middle East.
Into this seething caldron of intrigue—a city noted for its
handsome men and women, cleanliness, and pro-West loyalties—I plunged after my usual few days of sight-seeing and
orientation. I almost tripped on my first encounter when I
was invited by an Armenian to meet "an Arab friend." I went
eagerly to meet the short, handsome young Arab, who spoke
impeccable English. The name, Cecil Hourani, meant nothing
until Mr. Hourani asked sharply:
"You wrote Under Cover and The Plotters, didn't you?"
I looked at him blankly, and sipped my coffee in silence.
"I remember The Plotters particularly," he went on. "You
weren't very complimentary to the Arab Office."
Now I recalled Hourani; he had been an official and spokesman of the Arab Office in Washington. Directed from London, and supporting the Mufti, it served not only as a front
for anti-Zionist propaganda but as an agency that found great
favor with America's Jew-baiters from coast to coast.
"Ah, yes, forget it," I managed to say without turning color.
"I've now seen the Arab world. I'm tremendously impressed.
My views have changed."
"I'm very happy to hear it, but it remains to be seen what
you will write."
"I'll write the truth." I hoped the matter would end there.
After this I decided to trust no one. I assumed that every
Lebanese and every Armenian I met was as anti-Zionist as any
Syrian or Egyptian. Never before had I been called upon to
assume so many guises or to remember to keep straight so
many political views, and variations thereof, to prevent disastrous slips of the tongue. An ever-present danger was from
the Armenian Revolutionary Federation—my old friends, the