It might be safe to say that the relationship between states and armed militias might benefit from revisions of a highly consequential episode of modern Arab history: the Jordanian civil war of 1970–1971.
Together, the large Palestinian population in East Jordan, the country’s 482-kilometer border with Israel, and the bitter aftermath of the 1967 defeat (which included the loss of the West Bank and East Jerusalem) allowed the newly formed Palestinian factions to turn Jordan into their base of operations. At the time, Arab radicals and the communities enamoured of the factions dubbed Jordan “the Arabs’ Hanoi,” implying that the country was nothing more than a station on the path toward the “liberation of Palestine,” as Hanoi had been for South Vietnam.
A watershed came in 1968. The Jordanian army and the Palestinian resistance factions fought the Israeli forces side by side in the Battle of Karameh. Although the Jordanian army, particularly its artillery forces, played a decisive role in deciding the outcome, the resistance took all the credit, refusing to acknowledge its partner and even considering the battle as a second foundational moment.
When remaining in their Jordan Valley bases became dangerous, amid fears that fierce retaliation by Israel was all but inevitable, the Palestinian factions relocated to the capital, Amman, and other cities. Their arsenal and offices were thereby scattered across the country’s residential neighbourhoods, they set up checkpoints on the roads, and escalated their defiance of Jordan’s law. Their interference in all kinds of political and social issues also became a daily occurrence. Thus, this military duality became intolerable and desperate.
However, the Palestinian factions swiftly went from consolidating this duality of arms to demanding a monopoly. Echoing a famous Leninist slogan raised during the Bolsheviks’ struggle against Russia’s provisional government, the Popular Democratic Front for the Liberation of Palestine (PDFLP) raised the banner: “All power to the resistance.” The Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine (PFLP) went even further. Their strategy was to hijack civilian aircrafts, holding them at what they called the “airport of the revolution” and even blowing up one of the planes at this airport. Instead of rallying international support for the Palestinian cause as the hijackers had hoped, their operation compelled the UN Security Council to an emergency special session in which it passed Resolution 286 demanding the immediate release of all passengers.
The world’s response was firm and unequivocal. Amid mounting pressure, King Hussein decided to form a military government led by Brigadier General Muhammad Daoud, and Jordan waged a war on the militias. The king understood that the status quo had become untenable: discontent was rising, the state’s authority was being undermined as armed factions were being empowered, and the world’s respect for Jordan was waning. Jordan, as we know, does not have a wealth of natural resources. Its reliance on foreign support meant that dithering and wily political maneuvers were not viable options. Moreover, leaving this status quo unchecked would have almost certainly pushed Israel to launch another devastating assault against Jordan, which was still reeling from the blows it had been dealt during the 1967 war.
Nonetheless, the regime was also fully aware of the gravity and steep costs of this course of action. It knew that this would open the floodgates to defamation and accusations of treason from across the Arab world, especially since this was a time when praise for the Palestinian resistance, hailed as a beacon of hope for a new dawn, came from nearly every direction. The real prospect of Syrian military intervention added to the risks. The Syrians did ultimately intervene, reaching the city of Irbid before withdrawing after Hafez al-Assad, Syria’s defence minister at the time, refused to provide the Syrian forces on the ground with air support. Meanwhile, the Black September organization grew out of Fatah, vowing to “punish collaborators.” The most prominent of these so-called collaborators was Wasfi Tal, Jordan’s prime minister at the time and one of the most distinguished statesmen in the country’s history. In 1971, Tal wass assassinated with extreme brutality at the Sheraton Hotel in Cairo.
Beyond that, this episode had the capacity to tear through the national fabric and create schisms between Palestinians and East Jordanians. However, the union between East Jordan and the West Bank (1950–1967) had been the only successful experiment of political unification in the Levant, regardless of Arab radicals’ denial of this characterization.
King Hussein understood that the only alternative to take his bold and dangerous initiative was state collapse. The fear of death often pushes us to make desperate decisions, even decisions that are neither desirable nor easy to justify. Wasn’t that same instinct what compelled the Palestinian fighters to flee to Israel in 1971 when they were besieged in Jerash and Ajloun?
In truth, there is nothing lofty about looking to a civil war (that claimed more than 4,000 lives) as a model that ought to be replicated. However, it is worse for a society to find itself choosing between slow death and a costly step of last resort: cauterization that stops the bleeding.
The Lebanese would do well to reflect on this experience.
