By: Ihsan Abdel Quddous
I met His Majesty in the Throne Hall of Al‑Murabba‘ Palace in Riyadh—a palace built by King Abdulaziz and named Al‑Murabba‘ because of its square shape, with a fortress-like tower at each corner reminiscent of medieval strongholds. Every palace there has a name; the palace in which King Saud resides is called Al‑Nasiriyyah.
I walked through Al‑Murabba‘ Palace between dozens of men carrying golden swords, seated on the ground along the corridor leading to the Throne Hall.
I entered the great hall, its sides crowded with the faces of tribal leaders—faces that seemed to bring to life the legends of the Arabs we read in books: legends of courage, sharp swords, and Hatim‑like generosity.
I approached the place where King Saud sat—massive, powerful, yet bearing the simplicity and ruggedness of the Arab.
His Majesty pressed a bell beside him, and a coffee bearer arrived, offering us bitter Arabic coffee—two drops in each cup. Behind him came one of the sword-bearers, who would swiftly take the cup from your hand the moment you finished.
Before His Majesty began to speak, the official responsible for monitoring foreign radio broadcasts entered, sat on the floor before the King, and began reading his report. It carried news of the massacres that had taken place in Sudan during President Muhammad Naguib’s visit.
His Majesty turned to me and said:
“These are the intrigues of colonialism.”
I replied, “Yes.”
It seemed to me that a storm passed across his face, that a whirlwind was trying to burst from his chest. Then, as if he could no longer contain himself, he interrupted the reading of the report again, turned to me, and said—recounting from memory:
“I do not know what the British gain from our enmity. We were their friends. We fought alongside them in the war without asking for anything. We would have remained their friends forever had they preserved our rights. But they preserved nothing and honored no friendship. We will not stand with them again. They will enter war with the enemy before them and the enemy behind them, and they will not be able to fight with both their faces and their backs. They lose by making us their enemies—and one day they will know what they have lost.”
Realizing His Majesty was referring to the Buraimi dispute, I asked:
“What is to be done? How can we overcome the British?”
He replied, as though declaring a sacred jihad:
“Decide upon something, and we will be in the front ranks with you. We will sacrifice everything—our lives and our wealth. There is no life for a noble man, nor honor in his wealth, if he does not defend his rights. Our necks are cheap. He who does not die by the sword will die by something else—and the sword is more honorable than anything else.”
This is the Arab king—straight, clear lines that reach reality directly and confront it, no matter how bitter or difficult.
When His Majesty spoke of Arab unity, his voice again surged with intense passion. He was like a fiery young man who accepts no excuses and tolerates no hesitation in his cause. He said:
“Arab unity already exists—but it exists among the peoples. If there is a flaw, it is our flaw—we who sit on the seats of power. I say it plainly: the flaw is ours, not the people’s. The peoples are united, strong in their unity; only government policies weaken them.”
He continued:
“I was my father’s representative at the Inshas Conference of Arab leaders. We reached several resolutions, the most important of which was preserving the independence of Arab states and safeguarding their current conditions. We signed these resolutions. Where are those resolutions now? Where are those signatures? How can we preserve unity if we cannot preserve our own decisions and our own signatures?”
This frank Arab spirit that echoes in the King’s chest resonates with the entire people. They possess a remarkable sensitivity to everything happening in the Arab world.
Saudi Arabia is among the countries most in need of the sons of other Arab nations to contribute to the vast, rapid development it is undergoing. Today it embraces thousands of Palestinians, thousands of Syrians, thousands of Lebanese, and dozens of Egyptians—all finding work, all given wide fields for production and prosperity. When you walk through the streets of Jeddah or Riyadh, you feel as though you are in a great factory that never stops producing.
Buildings and palaces rise by the dozens. Roads are carved out with astonishing speed. Companies are founded daily. Government departments, hospitals, schools, water reservoirs, and massive machines confront your eyes everywhere—construction machines, road‑paving machines, electrical machines—machines unlike anything in Egypt, all from America.
The princes and leaders of the Kingdom who traveled to Europe and America did not return with nothing but memories of leisure; they returned with images of the modern city—images they sought to recreate in their own land. They rushed forward with remarkable zeal, competing among themselves: one building a grander palace, another a larger hospital, another a greater project. These endeavors took on a personal character that fueled their intensity, especially among ministers, princes, and merchants.
Some princes hold ministerial posts alongside citizens, yet the princes are not the wealthiest men in the country. The wealthiest are the merchants—individuals like Al‑Kaaki, Bin Laden, Zainal, Ridha, Al‑Sharbatli, and others.
These are the men who control nine‑tenths of the Kingdom’s income from oil and the pilgrimage season. They send this money abroad to import the modern city. One merchant may monopolize several types of trade and own between two and twenty companies handling unrelated activities—cement, automobiles, contracting, and more. A newcomer has no way among them unless he partners with one of them. They all wield great influence—so great that some have become “Ministers of State,” and their participation in government has not prevented them from continuing their commercial activities.
This concentrated capitalist system may seem strange in other countries—and we would not accept it in Egypt—but in Saudi Arabia it is necessary. Building a new state always requires individual effort and personal competition more than it requires state‑run systems.
I return to say that Saudi Arabia is among the countries most in need of the sons of other Arab nations to join its people in the great, rapid development it is undertaking.
Some from these nations imagine that all they need to do is go there and scoop up gold from the sidewalks, or that reciting a poem of praise before a prince will make him shout to his treasurer, “Give!” and fill their mouths with gold.
This is a false belief, and many have fallen victim to it. That era is gone and will not return. Today, every riyal is accounted for. Arab generosity has taken on a new form—not the rewarding of praise and poetry, but generosity backed by intelligence and caution, sometimes even bordering on suspicion toward every newcomer seeking that generosity.
There is no longer much room for swindlers, for the early swindlers came before them and left behind painful lessons not easily forgotten.
A prince or wealthy Saudi may still say “Give!” and may indeed fill your mouth with gold—but today, that will only happen if you offer him productive work he can take pride in before his nation and his peers, or if you contribute with your knowledge and skill to a project he is undertaking.