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May Schinasi Istanbul, June 9, 2009 Istanbul, June 9, 2009
Serâj ol-akhbâr and its role in my research
In my own personal history of Afghanistan, reading the full text of Serâj ol-akhbâr was my first work more than thirty years ago. At that time, I followed in Mahmud Tarzi's footsteps through the seven volumes of his journal that was published twice a month from 1911 until 1918. After Serâj ol-akhbâr, other Afghan matters kept me busy while other historians took over the subject. They are the ones who studied Tarzi's remarkable personality in thorough detail, and it is up to them, here at this table, to speak of his nationalist and Pan-Islamist aspirations, of his educational role, of his repeated calls for Afghanistan to find its place in the modern world and the Muslim community. The subjects I shall outline here are somewhat different, but no less related to Serâj olakhbâr. We shall see how launching a journal was a seemingly impossible challenge, and how this impossible challenge found its way as far afield as Australia. And then what Serâj ol-akhbâr tells us about Kabul, the serâjiya capital, of which apparently nothing much remains in the present megalopolis. But first of all I would like to recall the circumstances which led me to study Serâj olakhbâr, and pay tribute to the memory of two people who deserve acknowledgement and gratitude. Alexandre Bennigsen was an eminent scholar. In the 1960s he was teaching at the Paris Ecole Pratique des Hautes Etudes. As a specialist of the Muslims of Russia, he knew that in its time, Serâj ol-akhbâr was read by a Persian-speaking elite in the neighboring countries around Afghanistan. He recognized that Tarzi and his journal had appeared just at the right moment, in the second decade of the 20th century, to take over from the Muslim reformist movement of Central Asia, which had entered a phase of decline, and that Serâj ol-akhbâr's Pan-Islamist positions were well received by the Jadidis of Bokhara. Finding the original Persian text became Bennigsen's priority. And where better to find it if not on the spot? He took a plane for Kabul.
In Kabul, Abd ol-Samad Maymanagi was the bookseller whom no booklover in the Afghan capital could do without, but he was a peculiar bookseller to say the least. Abd ol-Samad had no shop: he would pile his books one on top of the other on a little wall in the center of town, and he would sit on the wall near his books - in summer in a big cardboard box to take shelter from the sun. Moreover, he was a bookseller who could neither read nor write, but who knew exactly what he was selling. His eyes were his extraordinary memory. When a person described for him the book he wished to sell, Abd ol-Samad memorized all the details. He had a library in his head. In no time at all, he managed to find a complete collection of Serâj ol-akhbâr. This is how, guided by Alexandre Bennigsen, the study of Serâj ol-akhbâr opened the Afghan chapter of Muslim reformism. -Samad Maymanagi was the bookseller whom no booklover in the Afghan capital could do without, but he was a peculiar bookseller to say the least. Abd ol-Samad had no shop: he would pile his books one on top of the other on a little wall in the center of town, and he would sit on the wall near his books - in summer in a big cardboard box to take shelter from the sun. Moreover, he was a bookseller who could neither read nor write, but who knew exactly what he was selling. His eyes were his extraordinary memory. When a person described for him the book he wished to sell, Abd ol-Samad memorized all the details. He had a library in his head. In no time at all, he managed to find a complete collection of Serâj ol-akhbâr. This is how, guided by Alexandre Bennigsen, the study of Serâj ol-akhbâr opened the Afghan chapter of Muslim reformism.
Why was the publication of Serâj ol-akhbâr in its time a seemingly impossible challenge? The reasons were manifold, because such an enterprise demanded means, personnel, and readers. And yet, early 20th century Afghanistan was a little developed country, 90% of its population was rural, nomad and illiterate. Also, at that time, the art of printing, though not new, was still young: in the thirty years between 1871, date of the first Afghan publication, and the end of the 19th century, only about fifty books had been published. In addition, Afghanistan had no experience in journalism: only one newspaper, a short- lived Shams on-nahâr, had existed thirty years before Serâj ol-akhbâr. Therefore, in the absence of qualified personnel, Mahmud Tarzi assumed all responsibilities himself, including the responsibility for all unsigned articles. Other handicaps included the fact that Afghanistan had no public libraries, that the foreign press did arrive, but with considerable delays, and that everything coming from abroad, including the mail, was submitted to the strict control of the Afghan agent in Peshawar. With all these drawbacks, each issue of Serâj ol-akhbâr that was published, be it lithographed as it was the first year or in typography later on, was as a real "tour de force". Finally, what readership could Serâj ol-akhbâr expect? Less than 2000 copies of each issue were printed, of which a few hundred were read abroad in neighboring countries, and even in countries as far afield as the Ottoman Empire, Japan and Australia. But what of Afghanistan itself, where the number of literate people was minute? The elites of the big cities, principally in Kabul, were probably the main readers, among whom in the course of time, about a hundred women readers were especially noteworthy. But the most eminent reader of Serâj ol-akhbâr was Amir Habibollâh Khân himself. The Amir had his share in the publication's origins, because without his permission nothing was possible. He was the one who decided to call back to Afghanistan those exiled under his father's reign, including Tarzi and his family. He was a person open to novelty and modernity; he took an interest in foreign cultures and the education the exiles brought back with them from abroad. When Mahmud Tarzi returned to Afghanistan in 1905 after twenty years of exile in the Ottoman Empire, he was forty, having left when he was not yet eighteen. Although he did not know his own country physically, he had an intellectual approach to its problems which he expressed in a completely new language, using words like progress, school, health, liberty, unity of the Muslims of the world, etc. Those words were explained again and again in Serâj ol-akhbâr in messages praising the excellence of Islam and urging Afghanistan to become part of the modern world. what of Afghanistan itself, where the number of literate people was minute? The elites of the big cities, principally in Kabul, were probably the main readers, among whom in the course of time, about a hundred women readers were especially noteworthy. But the most eminent reader of Serâj ol-akhbâr was Amir Habibollâh Khân himself. The Amir had his share in the publication's origins, because without his permission nothing was possible. He was the one who decided to call back to Afghanistan those exiled under his father's reign, including Tarzi and his family. He was a person open to novelty and modernity; he took an interest in foreign cultures and the education the exiles brought back with them from abroad. When Mahmud Tarzi returned to Afghanistan in 1905 after twenty years of exile in the Ottoman Empire, he was forty, having left when he was not yet eighteen. Although he did not know his own country physically, he had an intellectual approach to its problems which he expressed in a completely new language, using words like progress, school, health, liberty, unity of the Muslims of the world, etc. Those words were explained again and again in Serâj ol-akhbâr in messages praising the excellence of Islam and urging Afghanistan to become part of the modern world.
In quite an unexpected way those messages reached the Afghan community living in Australia, who used the journal to express their gratitude to and sympathy with the Amir and their native country. No less than five letters to the editor of Serâj ol-akhbâr were sent from Australia in a little more than a year, between November 1914 and January 1916. They are written in Persian/Dari and signed by a certain Sayyed Jalâl Shâh. The presence of Afghans in Australia dates back to the second half of the 19th century. It was linked to the importation of camels, because it was thought that camels from Asia would prove more resistant to thirst and exhaustion than the horses and bullocks used until then.
From that time on, all expeditions in Southern and Western Australia used camels, accompanied by their Afghan cameleers - the Australians called all the cameleers who arrived from an Indian port "Afghans". In fact, while there were indeed Afghans from Afghanistan, there were also quite a number of non-Afghans from various parts of India, from the North-West Frontier, from Baluchistan, Punjab and Sind.
The first two decades of the 20th century, that is exactly the reign of Amir Habibollâh Khân (1901-1918), correspond to the period in Australia when the population of cameleers reached its peak and when its religious life became organized, particularly around the new mosque in Perth. Sayyed Jalâl Shâh, the author of the letters published in Serâj ol-akhbâr, was attached to that mosque. He was not a cameleer. He had come to Australia to fulfill the cameleers' desire to have someone with religious knowledge who would help them strengthen their faith, lead the prayer and travel around the continent on request. His first letter, for instance, tells us that he led the prayer of 'Id-e Ramazân in Queensland, and two weeks later in New South Wales. In the sole town of Broken Hill, there were about two hundred Afghans who had collected Ł25 among themselves to pay for his trip in first class. He wrote that he had led the prayer for "the progress of Islam", for the Amir of Afghanistan and the people of Afghanistan. Sayyed Jalal Shah was born in Karachi, but his mother was of Afghan origin, and he spoke for all the Afghans of Australia. He praised the "Afghan civilization", well represented, he said, by a number of mosques. He frequently used the word "serâjiya" in such expressions as masjed-e eslâm-e afghâniya-ye serâjiya and madrasa-ye serâjiya, which underlined the importance, as far as Australia, of the achievements of Amir Habibollâh Khân's reign. Sayyed Jalâl Shâh considered the Afghans of Australia as his only responsible communicants, so much so that he submitted to the judgment of Tarzi and the readers of Serâj ol-akhbâr, thousands of miles away, the account of the financial difficulties besetting Australian mosques. He described those mosques in detail, particularly the ones in Perth and Adelaide. But none of them had a solid financial base, and Sayyed Jalâl Shâh pleaded for the adoption of the traditional institution of Islamic jurisprudence, the waqf. The revenue, he said, would cover the annual expenses and maintenance of the buildings, and would allow a mosque to be built in Sydney. All this is explained in detail, but what the outcome was is unknown. t two decades of the 20th century, that is exactly the reign of Amir Habibollâh Khân (1901-1918), correspond to the period in Australia when the population of cameleers reached its peak and when its religious life became organized, particularly around the new mosque in Perth. Sayyed Jalâl Shâh, the author of the letters published in Serâj ol-akhbâr, was attached to that mosque. He was not a cameleer. He had come to Australia to fulfill the cameleers' desire to have someone with religious knowledge who would help them strengthen their faith, lead the prayer and travel around the continent on request. His first letter, for instance, tells us that he led the prayer of 'Id-e Ramazân in Queensland, and two weeks later in New South Wales. In the sole town of Broken Hill, there were about two hundred Afghans who had collected Ł25 among themselves to pay for his trip in first class. He wrote that he had led the prayer for "the progress of Islam", for the Amir of Afghanistan and the people of Afghanistan. Sayyed Jalal Shah was born in Karachi, but his mother was of Afghan origin, and he spoke for all the Afghans of Australia. He praised the "Afghan civilization", well represented, he said, by a number of mosques. He frequently used the word "serâjiya" in such expressions as masjed-e eslâm-e afghâniya-ye serâjiya and madrasa-ye serâjiya, which underlined the importance, as far as Australia, of the achievements of Amir Habibollâh Khân's reign. Sayyed Jalâl Shâh considered the Afghans of Australia as his only responsible communicants, so much so that he submitted to the judgment of Tarzi and the readers of Serâj ol-akhbâr, thousands of miles away, the account of the financial difficulties besetting Australian mosques. He described those mosques in detail, particularly the ones in Perth and Adelaide. But none of them had a solid financial base, and Sayyed Jalâl Shâh pleaded for the adoption of the traditional institution of Islamic jurisprudence, the waqf. The revenue, he said, would cover the annual expenses and maintenance of the buildings, and would allow a mosque to be built in Sydney. All this is explained in detail, but what the outcome was is unknown.
How did Serâj ol-akhbâr describe Kabul, the seat of royalty and of the political, social and intellectual elite, the capital where anything important in the country happened and on which all contacts with the outside world converged?
What was Kabul physically? Kabul was an oriental town of Central Asian appearance with houses made of clay and wood, piled one on top of the other. Serâj ol-akhbâr mentioned them and their neighborhood only when they were devastated by fires, which spread rapidly. On the other hand, the journal gave many accounts of the royal and princely palaces of European architecture that were being built outside the historic town, on the left side of the river, in the Arg and the new residential area. The reason why their description was often quite detailed was that Tarzi was convinced that progress also involved urban planning and architecture, and by giving many details he expressed his satisfaction at seeing what he called the medieval architecture of Kabul abandoned. But Tarzi also had political motives, out of deference to the Amir on whom the journal's survival depended. Mahmud Tarzi did not live in the historic town, but in the new residential quarter of Deh Afghânân. His house, however, was a traditional Afghan house organized around a vast inner courtyard. It still existed in the 1960s, the carved woodwork of its paneled windows and shutters still visible. Mahmud Tarzi used to take walks in Deh Afghânân. On one of his walks, he guided us along the new wide roads lined with trees and gardens which from then on were to replace the old-fashioned pattern of narrow winding streets. In this way, we see the urban plan being transformed and the new Kabul looking spacious and open, in stark contrast to the old town. In the Afghan capital of those years, the educational, military, industrial and medical structures which Tarzi believed essential for the education of men and minds were being set up. The Habibiya school moved into Bâgh-e Mehmânkhâna; the military school opened in the Bâgh-e Charmgar palace; on the river bank, the civilian hospital expanded under the direction of a Turkish medical doctor, a pioneer among pioneers; and on the outskirts of the historic town, the Workshops or mâshinkhâna found new impetus with the establishment of new factories and especially the introduction of the new driving force, electricity. The journal informs us of all these novelties in detail. The Australian response to Serâj ol-akhbâr's message, and the new physiognomy of the capital Kabul, as described by Tarzi, are just two examples. Serâj ol-akhbâr is amine of information. It proved that Afghanistan was no longer isolated. Even though it reached a very minute part of a population that was largely ignorant of western ways, it opened up new prospects for all kinds of developments. of Central Asian appearance with houses made of clay and wood, piled one on top of the other. Serâj ol-akhbâr mentioned them and their neighborhood only when they were devastated by fires, which spread rapidly. On the other hand, the journal gave many accounts of the royal and princely palaces of European architecture that were being built outside the historic town, on the left side of the river, in the Arg and the new residential area. The reason why their description was often quite detailed was that Tarzi was convinced that progress also involved urban planning and architecture, and by giving many details he expressed his satisfaction at seeing what he called the medieval architecture of Kabul abandoned. But Tarzi also had political motives, out of deference to the Amir on whom the journal's survival depended. Mahmud Tarzi did not live in the historic town, but in the new residential quarter of Deh Afghânân. His house, however, was a traditional Afghan house organized around a vast inner courtyard. It still existed in the 1960s, the carved woodwork of its paneled windows and shutters still visible. Mahmud Tarzi used to take walks in Deh Afghânân. On one of his walks, he guided us along the new wide roads lined with trees and gardens which from then on were to replace the old-fashioned pattern of narrow winding streets. In this way, we see the urban plan being transformed and the new Kabul looking spacious and open, in stark contrast to the old town.
In the Afghan capital of those years, the educational, military, industrial and medical structures which Tarzi believed essential for the education of men and minds were being set up. The Habibiya school moved into Bâgh-e Mehmânkhâna; the military school opened in the Bâgh-e Charmgar palace; on the river bank, the civilian hospital expanded under the direction of a Turkish medical doctor, a pioneer among pioneers; and on the outskirts of the historic town, the Workshops or mâshinkhâna found new impetus with the establishment of new factories and especially the introduction of the new driving force, electricity. The journal informs us of all these novelties in detail. The Australian response to Serâj ol-akhbâr's message, and the new physiognomy of the capital Kabul, as described by Tarzi, are just two examples. Serâj ol-akhbâr is amine of information. It proved that Afghanistan was no longer isolated. Even though it reached a very minute part of a population that was largely ignorant of western ways, it opened up new prospects for all kinds of developments.
Thank you.