Such an open war as this roused even the Ottoman Government to asking questions; though to do the officials justice, they would have been glad enough to leave the[{316}] matter alone if only British Embassies and Consulates had left them in peace. As it was, they consented to send a commissioner to somewhere near the district, with instructions to “do takikat” in the case. As a matter of etymology, takikat means examination or inquiry. As a matter of practice, it means sending an official with instructions to waste time, and do nothing elaborately; while the Government at headquarters says to the interfering foreigner, “you must allow us reasonable space and opportunity for action.” After a few months, this phrase is altered; and the reply is, “well, after all, it happened a long time ago, and we cannot go into the matter now.” In this case, the commissioner got as far as Amadia, and sent a summons to Reshid to come down and explain his conduct. Reshid sent out five pounds to the messenger, and the information that he was ill in bed, and the gentleman must call again; and this quite satisfied everybody.
This is the sort of procedure that fills a Consul with despair. It is hard enough to get a disciplinary or reforming order out of the central Government; and when you have got it, what better are you? There is no possibility of getting the thing executed. Every Jack-in-office in the Ottoman service knows what is meant by a “watery command”—an order extracted by foreign pressure which he is meant to disregard. They know when the authority means business, and then they answer the rein at once; but they also know when it does not, and then they do nothing. Foreign influence cannot possibly see to it that there is a Consul in every place where oppression can arise. No Power can keep one in every mudirate; and nothing short of that would be effective. If Turkey is ever to be reformed, it must be by foreigners who have executive as well as advisory authority; power, that is, to hang an official who does not obey orders, or a chief who breaks the peace. Half a dozen such men would have Kurdistan as safe as Hyde Park inside a year, for if there is one chance in twenty of trouble ensuing, the Kurd does not raid.[{317}]
Reshid’s only rival in Berwar is the Agha of Châl,[142] an old man who is the government Mudir of his district. He is also a Sufi by religious profession; and both of these circumstances should make for respectability; for the Mudir is put there to keep order, being lowest on the scale of local governors, and Sufis are usually supposed to be quiet mystics. Many of them are so in fact, and most interesting religious philosophers to talk with; but this man is noted for being on the whole the most crafty murderer in the country-side. It is of course something to rise to eminence in a profession so crowded as that peculiar one is locally; but perhaps that is not the most remarkable thing about this particular Agha. He is the only man of the writer’s acquaintance who keeps a really large herd of domestic Jews. Châl village is largely populated by men of that race; and they are to all intents and purposes the serfs of the Agha—his tame money-spinners. The writer was even offered full rights in one of them for the sum of five pounds; and if the bargain would have held in more civilized districts (and the vendor, to do him justice, did not realize that it would not), it might have been as profitable an investment as is ever likely to come his way! A Jew of one’s very own, bound to put all his financial skill at your disposal, and to use it solely for your benefit, would be a most valuable property.
There are other chiefs who keep “tame Jews” in this fashion, though not on the same scale as does the wise man of Châl. Naturally, you are expected to protect your own Hebrew, and to guard him against all other oppressors; even as the King of England used to do, when he had absolute property in all the Jews in England, and saw to it that their debtors did not default. Kurdish Aghas, however, do not always rise to this duty; and the writer has known a case, where the unfortunate Israelite, who was owned in this fashion by one Agha, was robbed of every penny and rag he possessed by that Agha’s rival.[{318}] Poor Ibrahim complained, of course, to his natural lord, on the ground that it was iyba to that master himself, if his property was robbed in this style. The chief had to admit that there was something in the argument; but redress by force of arms (the obvious method) was impossible, because the robber was far too nearly his equal in strength.
“Your face is blackened my Lord,” pleaded the poor Hebrew.
“It is indeed,” said the Agha; “but I can’t go to war with him notwithstanding.”
Presently he had a really brilliant inspiration. “Look here Ibrahim; I have it! I’ll go and rob his Jew myself!”
That being the way the Kurdish mind works, it will be readily understood that their unfortunate Christian rayats run considerable peril when there happens to be feud between two Aghas. Under those circumstances, it is just as satisfactory on the point of honour—and a good deal more profitable and less risky—to raid your opponents’ unarmed Christian villages, than his armed Kurdish ones. Both sides practise this amiable habit with great satisfaction to themselves; and the poor rayats suffer accordingly.
The presence of one powerful Kurdish chief ruling a whole country-side is thus a distinct improvement (however tyrannous he may be) on the rule of several rivals. He may at least have the sense to realize that it is unprofitable to carry the oppression of the rayats too far, lest the cattle should be ungrateful enough to die on his hands. A story is told of the brother of the notorious Bedr Khan Beg, that on one occasion when that great destroyer of Christians was meditating a further massacre, he appeared in the diwan in labourer’s dress, armed with a shovel.
“Mashallah. Why this masquerade?” asked his brother the chief.