61. Remembering Hasib Sabbagh (1920-2010)
- Author:
- Walid Khalidi
- Publication Date:
- 03-2010
- Content Type:
- Journal Article
- Journal:
- Journal of Palestine Studies
- Institution:
- Institute for Palestine Studies
- Abstract:
- Hasib Sabbagh, who died on 12 January 2010 after a long illness, was arguably the preeminent Palestinian entrepreneur in the business and contracting fields in the post-1948 period. Born to an old and distinguished Greek Catholic family of Safad in Eastern Galilee, Sabbagh established the Consolidated Contractors Company (CCC) in 1945 in Haifa with several partners after graduating in engineering from the American University of Beirut. Under his dynamic leadership and with the cooperation of his life-long partner, Said Khoury, the CCC (which Sabbagh reconstituted in Lebanon after the fall of Palestine) evolved from a modest local enterprise into the giant global multinational corporation that it is today. Using the CCC as his base, he began as of the early 1970s to devote his great energy to the service of Palestine, not only through his philanthropic ventures promoting social and educational causes, but also through his behind-the-scenes political mediation and reconciliation efforts. The following reminiscences trace the unusual partnership and friendship between the author, whose orientation was largely academic, and Sabbagh, whose approach reflected his big-business milieu. The two met in 1972 around the time when Sabbagh was embarking on his public service phase. They became fast friends and remained so until Sabbagh's death, joined by their common dedication to Palestine. The memoir includes Sabbagh's own account of his departure from Palestine in 1948 and sheds light on some relatively little known activities of the Palestinian business and academic elite in the post-1967 period. I met Hasib Sabbagh for the first time in 1972 in Beirut, but his name had been familiar to me since the late 1930s when he was a student at the Government Arab College in Jerusalem, whose principal was my father. The principal's residence was just behind the main college building, and I heard his name mentioned while eavesdropping on a faculty meeting held in my father's study. The fact that Hasib was a pupil at the Arab College already says a lot about him. The college was the apex of the Arab, male, public (in the American sense) educational system. Admission to it was based exclusively on merit and the most stringent entrance qualifications. Although a boarding institution, its fees were nominal. Entrants were at the top of their class at the mid-high school level, where the college classes began. Its recruitment network encompassed the entire country, generating the stiffest competition among applicants and tapping the best Arab talent, rural and urban, irrespective of social or financial status. The faculty, graduates of the best British universities, were mostly Arab, and the curriculum was a balanced synthesis of the humanities and the sciences as well as of Arab Islamic culture and the Western classical heritage, both Greek and Latin being taught. . . . Had Palestine not fallen in 1948, the college would have become its national university. In most ways, the Arab College was unique in the Arab world, and possibly in the third world. Its graduates constitute to this day an elite with their own esprit de corps. Between the 1930s and 1972, when our very different paths finally converged, the watershed year in Hasib's life and mine—as for all Palestinians—was, of course, 1948. The events of that year have remained a permanent item on our agenda as, day after day and over the years, Hasib and I “tired the sun with talking and sent it down the sky.” Coaxing his memory, the following is what I have pieced together from Hasib's reminiscences of how he left Haifa, his adopted city, which in his mind was second only to the true capital of Palestine, his hometown Safad. Hasib's Tale When the final Jewish onslaught came on 23 April, Arab morale broke down and there started a panicky flight from the city by land and sea. The British forces escorted convoy after convoy out of town, encouraging the evacuation of Haifa. We lived in the Abbas quarter, and close by was the house of George Mu`ammar, a business partner and an active member of Haifa's National Committee. Mu`ammar was distraught by the flight of Haifa's residents, and I can still see him standing on his balcony, haranguing the crowds surging by below, pleading with them not to leave. When I saw this I ran up to him and shouted: “What on earth are you doing? Leave these people alone! Can't you see that if they stay and get killed, you will be blamed?” He persisted, but I pulled him down and made him stop. I myself had decided to go to Safad, my hometown, which was in the middle of Arab territory and strongly held by us. But with the fighting in eastern and western Galilee at the time, the easiest way to reach Safad was from the north, through south Lebanon, which meant I had first to go to Beirut. Our company had lorries in Haifa, and I invited anybody who wanted to travel to Beirut to climb on board. Soon the lorries were crammed to capacity, and the British escorted us to the Lebanese frontier. We arrived in Beirut on the afternoon of 23 April. There I met Captain Emile Jumay`an, who was with the Transjordanian Arab Legion and an old family friend. I told him I had just come from Haifa, which had fallen, and he asked me what I intended to do. I said I was going to Safad after seeing my brother Habib and my sister Suad, who had just come [to Beirut] from there. He told me not to go, although he was on his way there himself on a mission involving the garrison under the command of the Arab League's military committee based in Damascus. When my brother Habib, who had been sent by the Safad National Committee to get arms and ammunition, heard what Jumay`an had said, he decided to stay behind in Beirut. But my sister Suad, who had come to Beirut on behalf of the Red Crescent to take back medicines and bandages, insisted on completing her mission regardless. After two weeks in Beirut, I set off for Safad myself. But when I reached the border on 9 May, masses of people were coming from the direction of Safad, among them my brother Munir and my sister Suad, who was disheveled, barefooted, and with torn clothing. Safad had fallen, so we returned to Beirut, and, as I contemplated our situation, I decided that what the family most urgently needed was money. We had plenty in Barclays Bank in Haifa, so I made up my mind to return there, and set off by sea from Tyre. The journey was stormy and the boat was packed, with everybody vomiting over everybody else. The boat docked in the harbor near the government hospital on 10 May, five days before the end of the British Mandate. Arriving in the city we saw both British and Haganah forces. The Haganah troops looked at our identity cards and, the Mandate still being in force, allowed us in. I made my way to our house in Abbas. Shops were closed, the streets were empty, and Haganah troops were all over. Our house had not been touched. Soon after my arrival, I went to call on Mu`ammar, who was delighted to see me. He chided me for leaving and tried to convince me to stay: “If you stay behind, you and I can do a lot of business together.” I said I had come only to withdraw money from the bank.
- Political Geography:
- Palestine, Jerusalem, and Lebanon