The Levanter (6 page)

How best, then, to safeguard the interests of the Agence Howell?

I had, I considered, three options open to me. I could side with the resisters. I could temporize. Or I could explore the gray areas of future compromise and see what sort of a deal I could make.

Siding with the resisters meant, in effect, taking to the political woods and conspiring with those who would attempt to overthrow the new government. For a foreigner contemplating suicide this course might have had its attractions. For this foreigner it had none.

The temporizers, of whom there were many among my business acquaintances, seemed to me to have misjudged the new situation. Having observed with mounting weariness the political antics of the past decade, they tended to dismiss the nationalization of industry threat, with smiles and shrugs, as mere post-coup rhetoric. The banks? Well, the British and French banks had been sequestrated for years, hadn’t they? Nationalizing what was left had been an easy gesture to make. No, Michael, the thing to do now is sit tight and wait for the next counter-coup. Meanwhile, of course, we’ll have to keep our eyes open. When all this dust begins to settle a bit some of your new men will be coming out of it with their palms beginning to itch. They’ll be the ones to talk to about nationalization of industry. How can we pay them if they nationalize us, eh? Watch and wait, my boy, watch and wait. It’s the only way.

The temporizers, I thought, might be in for some surprises. I went my own way, exploring.

Obviously, yet another application to the Central Bank for the release of our blocked funds would fail unless I could apply some sort of leverage. Just as obviously, the only kind of lever that would work with the Central Bank would be one operated by its masters in the government. What I needed, then, was an endorsement of my application by a government department. It would have to be a high-level endorsement, too, preferably ministerial. What did I
have to offer in exchange for such a thing?

At that point, the catch phrase, “If you can’t lick ‘em, join em,” came to mind. After that, once I had accepted the fact that I might do better working
with
the government people than by attempting artfully to outwit them, I made progress. The problem was then simplified. How could I join them in a way which would ultimately benefit us both?

I did a lot of thinking, some intensive market research, and formulated the plan.

In ‘63 I was not as used to negotiating with government officials as I am now. If I had been, I would not have given the proposition I was out to sell them even a fifty-fifty chance of success. Perhaps the fact that I was only thirty-two at the time, and consumed by the need to prove myself, helped. I was very aggressive in those days, too, and, I am afraid, given to finger-wagging exhortation when opposed.

My first encounter with the decision-making machinery in Damascus was a meeting with two bureaucrats, one from the Ministry of Finance, where the meeting took place, and one from the Ministry of Social Affairs and Commerce. They listened to me in silence, accepted copies of an
aide-mémoire
which summarized my proposals in veiled, but what I believed to be intriguing, terms, and indicated politely that they had other appointments.

A month went by before I was summoned by letter to a meeting at the Ministry of Social Affairs and Commerce. This meeting was in the office of a senior official to whom I had once been introduced at a Greek Embassy picnic. Also present were the two bureaucrats who had interviewed me before, and a younger man who was introduced as representing the recently created Department of Industrial Development. After the usual preliminary politenesses had been exchanged the senior officials invited this younger man to question me on the subject of my proposals.

His name was Hawa - Dr. Hawa.

My subsequent dealings with Dr. Hawa have been the subject of much misrepresentation. He himself has lately seen fit to assume the role of innocent betrayed, and to accuse me publicly of every crime from malfeasance to murder on the high seas. Under the circumstances it may be thought that no account I give of our relationship can be wholly objective.

I disagree. I have every intention of remaining objective. As far as I am concerned the only effect of his diatribes has been to relieve me of any lingering disposition to pull my punches.

Dr. Hawa is a thin, hard-faced man with tight lips and dark, angry eyes; obviously a tough customer, and particularly formidable when met for the first time. I
remember that it was something of a relief to find that he was a chain-smoker; I knew then that he wasn’t as formidable as he appeared. Though we later became better acquainted I never discovered the academic discipline to which his doctorate belonged. I do know that he had a degree in law from the University of Damascus and that he later spent a year or two in the United States under a post-graduate student-exchange arrangement. There, I gather, he managed to pick up a Ph.D. from some easygoing academic institution in the Midwest. His English is fluent, with North American intonations. However, that first conversation was conducted mainly in Arabic with only occasional lapses into French and English.

“Mr. Howell, tell me about your company,” he began.

The tone was patronizing. I had noticed that he had a copy of my
aide-mémoire
on the table in front of him, so I nodded toward it “It is all there, Dr. Hawa.”

“No, Mr. Howell, it is not
all there.” He flicked the papers disdainfully. “What is described there is a gambit, an opening move in which a small piece is sacrificed to secure a later advantage. We would like to know what game it is that we are being invited to play.”

I knew then that I would have to be careful with him
.
Chain-smoker he might be, but he was certainly no fool. If he had been English he would probably have described my
aide-mémoire
as a sprat to catch a mackerel, but gambit was also a pretty accurate description - too accurate for my liking. I looked at the senior official.

“What I had hoped for here, sir,” I said sternly, “was a serious discussion of serious proposals. I have no intention of playing any sort of game.”

“Dr. Hawa was speaking figuratively, of course.”

Hawa had a thin smile. “As Mr. Howell appears to be so sensitive I will put the matter another way.” He looked at me again. “You ask, Mr. Howell, for ministerial endorsement of an application for the release of blocked funds in order that they may be reinvested here. In return you undertake to confer on the state a number of economic blessings, the nature of which you hint at, but the value of which you leave to the imagination. More specifically, however, you offer to relinquish control of your remaining enterprises here, including a tannery and a flour mill, so that they may become cooperatives working under government auspices. Naturally we are curious about the spirit and temper of this strange gift horse, and about the business philosophy of the giver, the man who is seeking funds for reinvestment. So, I ask you to satisfy our curiosity.”

I
shrugged. “As you probably know our company here has hitherto been a family affair. My grandfather and my father before me have done business in this country for many years. I think it fair to say that it has been useful business.”

“Useful? Don’t you mean profitable?”

“For me that is a distinction without a difference, Dr. Hawa. Useful
and
profitable, of course. Is there any other kind of business worth doing?” I thought I had his measure now. In a moment he was going to start talking about ownership of the means of production. I was wrong.

“But useful to whom, profitable to whom?”

“Useful to all those of your people to whom our company pays good wages and salaries - here, I may remind you, we employ only Syrian nationals. Profitable certainly to our company’s shareholders, but profitable also to the successive governments, Turkish, French, and Syrian, which have taxed us. Dividends have not always been certain, but wages and taxes have always been promptly paid.” And, I might have added, so had the bribes, petty and not so petty, which were part of any Levantine overhead; but I was still trying to handle him tactfully.

“Then why, Mr. Howell, are you so eager to relinquish control of these useful and profitable businesses?”

“Eager?” I gave him a blank stare. “I assure you, Dr. Hawa, that I am not in the least eager. My impression is that ultimately I will have no choice in the matter.”

“Ultimately, perhaps, but why this premature generosity? Understandably, I think, we find it puzzling, and a little suspect.”

“Only because you are not looking at my proposals as a whole. I think I am being realistic.”

“Realistic? How?”

I might have replied that had I not puzzled them by offering to hand over the Syrian assets of the Agence Howell, we would not have been sitting there discussing what was to become of its blocked funds. Instead I gave my prepared answer.

“At present the government lacks the administrative machinery to implement its socialist program for industry. But only at present. I am looking to the future. I might retain control for a year or so, but sooner or later I will certainly lose it. I prefer to lose it sooner and devote my time and energies to retrieving the situation. Does that seem foolish, or even generous, Dr. Hawa?”

“If we knew better what you meant by ‘retrieving the situation’ we might be able to judge.”

“Very well. Then let us begin with two assumptions. First, that the government takes over the operation of our remaining business in Syria for its own account and profit. Second, that the government compensates us in the usual way, with paper.”

He was lighting yet another cigarette. “There is no harm in our speaking hypothetically. Let us, for the purposes of your explanation, accept both acquisition and compensation. What then?”

“The Agence Howell is left without businesses here but with substantial assets. Some of these assets are intangible - management skills, knowledge of world markets and access to them, trading experience - but they are real enough nonetheless. However, without the capital to exploit them they are useless. The capital is there, but it is blocked. So, since the capital is not allowed to work, nothing else can. The loss is only partly ours. Your economy loses, too. The remedy I propose would work to our mutual advantage and would be in line with announced government policies for industry.”

“If you could be more specific.”

“Certainly. I propose a series of cooperative ventures, under government auspices and control, in the light industry field. Their primary object would be the manufacture of goods suitable for the export markets.”

“What sort of goods, Mr. Howell?” He had now the intent look of a cat who has suddenly seen a plump and rather somnolent field mouse.

“Ceramics to begin with,” I said. “Then I would go over to furniture and metalwork.”

The cat’s tail twitched. “In case you are unaware of the fact, Mr. Howell, I must tell you that we already have a considerable ceramics industry.”

“I am well aware of it, Dr. Hawa, but as far as I am concerned it is making the wrong things.”

“And as far as I am concerned, Mr. Howell, I begin to suspect that you are barking up the wrong tree.”

He was beginning to annoy me. “Of course, Dr. Hawa, if you find it too painful to listen to new ideas on old subjects, there is nothing more to be said.”

He decided that it was time to pounce. “New ideas, Mr. Howell? Decorated junk in quantity - pots, plates, and vases - for export to the trashy tourist shops of the Western world? Is that the way you would like to get your money out?” He laughed shortly at the others and they smiled back dutifully.

I nearly lost my temper, but not quite.

“I realize, Doctor, that you must be a very busy man,” I said, “and that before this meeting you were unable to make the usual departmental inquiries about my qualifications and reputation.”

He shrugged indifferently. “You were trained as an engineer. That could mean anything.”

“Then you cannot have heard that it is not a business habit of mine to talk nonsense. At the mention of ceramics your mind goes to pots and plates and vases. And why not? That is all you know about in the context. When I say ceramics I have something different in mind, because I have done some market research. I am talking, for one thing, about mass produced tiling.”

He frowned. ‘Tiles? You mean the tiles we use on our floors?”

“Not of the kind you mean. I mean ceramic tile sold by the square meter and made up of two centimetre mosaics glazed on one surface in plain colours, and not sold in any tourist shops, trashy or otherwise. I will give you an example. There is at the moment a modern two-hundred bedroom hotel going up in Benghazi. Each bedroom has a bathroom tiled in this material - floors and walls, plain colours - pink, blue, green, black, white. Approximately fifty square meters of tiling go into each bathroom. There is the same kind of tiling in the kitchens and on the verandas. About twelve thousand square meters were involved in the contract which went to an Italian manufacturer. It was worth forty-five thousand American.”

“Dollars?”

“Dollars. There is a big demand for this material. All over the Mediterranean hotels and big apartment blocks are being built, all over Europe for that matter. Marble is expensive. Tiling is comparatively cheap. Tiling is now the preferred material. Could Syria have had this order for Benghazi? If it had been equipped to produce the right article in the quantities needed and on time, the answer must be yes.
True, Libya still has commercial ties with Italy, but what of her religious, ethnic, and political ties with the UAR? Besides, Syria’s price could well have been lower.”

“Where else is this special tiling made?”

“You mean is it an Italian monopoly? By no means. The French and the Swiss are already in the business. There is a tile factory near Zurich employing over two hundred persons.”

He made a face. “So a tiling factory, and when the building business slumps . . .”

“We shall be much older men. In any case the tiling is
only one example of the kind of thing I mean, Egypt is now building an electric power grid. It will take years to complete, and overhead high voltage power lines need glazed ceramic insulators, massive things, six or eight to a pylon. Tens of thousands will be needed. Of course, they could all come from the Soviet Union or Poland, but would the Russians care if these insulators were made in Syria? They might even be glad to subcontract the work to a friendly neighbour. It would be interesting to find out. I am sure that a request passed through their commercial attaché for drawings and specifications would be sympathetically received.”