(CHAPTER III)
GREEN SHIRTS AND RED FEZZES
"Our God is the strongest. We are not afraid to die.
The Jews are cowards because they want to live. The
Arabs would rather lose ten men than one gun.
The Jews are the opposite. They want to save their
lives and lose their guns. That is one difference between us."
Moustafa, Holy Warrior
THE headquarters of the Green Shirts—more formally known
as Misr el Fattat, the Young Egypt Party—was a two-storied
building in the heart of Cairo, with a balcony flanked by
Greek columns and Arabic grillwork. Passing a high iron
fence decorated with the crescent of Islam, I entered a courtyard. Twin winding stairways led inside. I found Ahmed
Hussein in his office.
He was a short, volatile, clean-cut man of about thirtyeight, with a round face and a thick brown mustache. He wore
his tarboosh at a jaunty angle. His features were distinctly
Semitic and light-complexioned. I introduced myself, told him
I was a journalist, and explained my mission: "I want to study
Arab life first-hand." Only Allah could forgive me for the fib
I added: "I bring you greetings from Katibah and Freedman.
They ask after your health."
Hussein's eyes lighted up. "Ahh, my brothers in America.
How is Richardson?" And he went on to tell how he had sued