Churchill's dead, blame it on him

Frank Jacobs, author of Strange Maps: An Atlas of Cartographic Curiosities, is a London-based author and blogger, who writes about cartography, but only the interesting bits. He explores the stories behind the map of the Middle East in an article in The New York Times:

“I think I’ll write a book today,” the writer Georges Simenon was said to tell his wife at breakfast. “Fine,” she would reply, “but what will you do in the afternoon?” Winston Churchill was similarly prolific, and not just in the field of letters. In his later years, he liked to boast that in 1921 he created the British mandate of Trans-Jordan, the first incarnation of what is still the Kingdom of Jordan, “with the stroke of a pen, one Sunday afternoon in Cairo".
Also like Simenon, Churchill wasn’t averse to the odd tipple, and according to some, that Sunday afternoon in Cairo followed a particularly liquid lunch. As a consequence, the then colonial secretary’s penmanship proved a bit unsteady, allegedly producing a particularly erratic borderline. The result is still visible on today’s maps: the curious zigzag of the border between Jordan and Saudi Arabia. Starting at the Gulf of Aqaba, the Jordanian-Saudi border drifts northeastward as six relatively short, straight lines, manacled together into an unsteady chain gang that doesn’t quite know which direction to take. Then, in a single, ninety-mile stretch, the border suddenly and spectacularly lurches northwest, aiming for the southern Lebanese coast. But finally, it seems to regain its footing, continuing the 130 miles northeast toward the Iraqi border in a near-straight line, as if running away from all those twists and turns.
The resultant Saudi triangle sticking into Jordan’s side is one of the more remarkable features on the map of the Middle East. Its northern tip is less than seventy miles removed from the Jordanian capital of Amman. At just over a hundred miles, it also represents the shortest distance between Saudi Arabia and Jerusalem.
Those facts might have geopolitical resonance today, but, according to the legend of its creation, the border owes its strange shape to nothing more significant than Churchill’s propensity for champagne, brandy, and whisky. This stretch of border is still, and in retrospect rather euphemistically, referred to as Winston’s Hiccup, or Churchill’s Sneeze. Wouldn’t it be ironic if Saudi Arabia, the nation that puts the “total” in teetotal, owed part of its external border to the inebriated scribblings of a British boozehound?
Unfortunately, even though Churchill was sufficiently involved in redrawing the map of the Middle East to boast that Jordan was his creation, and even though he was fond of a tipple, the hiccup part of the story is entirely apocryphal.
That the anecdote can even be believed owes much to Churchill’s well-earned but over-emphasized reputation as a bon vivant. But it owes perhaps equally much to the recent, arbitrary, and foreign-imposed nature of borders in that part of the world.
National borders in the modern sense came very late to the Arabian Peninsula. The Ottoman Empire dominated the more settled parts of the Middle East, including the Red Sea and Gulf coasts of the Arabian Peninsula. Ottoman writ frayed toward Arabia’s desert heart, which was ruled by tribal chiefs, of doubtful allegiance to the Sublime Porte. The boundary between the Turkish-held coasts and the Arab core of the peninsula was vague, and perhaps that was for the best.
In sparsely populated regions crisscrossed by nomadic tribes, well-defined borders were good for nothing, and required by no one. Maps of the Ottoman Empire solve the problem of showing borders where there really aren’t any by choosing a steady, oscillating line as a divisor: surely, a border that looks this aquatic, and in a desert, must be a fata morgana.
What’s interesting about this approximate border, apart from the inevitable variation of the “thickness” of the Ottoman pincer, depending on which map you look at, is the extent of non-Ottoman Arabia. In most maps, the non-centrally governed “tribal areas” reach much further north than Saudi Arabia does today. These areas generally culminate at a point northeast of Damascus, meaning that “Free Arabia” includes large parts of present-day Syria, Jordan, and Iraq. Large, but empty parts: the Arid Gibbous of the Middle East, aka the Syrian Desert.
And if the linguist William Shakespear had lived beyond 1915, this might also be how far north the modern Saudi state stretched. The improbably named Shakespear, an Anglo-Indian by birth, explorer by nature, used his posting as political agent in Kuwait, from 1909, to befriend Ibn Saud. The future Saudi king was then still emir of the Nejd, a region in the peninsula’s interior. Shakespear was the first British official to liaise with Ibn Saud, and the first Westerner to map the Wadi Sirhan, a water-rich depression that serves as a caravan route, just east of Winston’s Hiccup. It was Shakespear who, in 1914, urged Ibn Saud to aid the British in their campaign against the Ottomans, allies of the Germans in the march toward World War One. (When lunching with Ibn Saud, Churchill commented on Islam’s prohibition of drinking and smoking, though possibly not to the King’s face: “My rule of life prescribes as an absolutely sacred rite the smoking of cigars and also the drinking of alcohol before, after, and, if need be, during all meals and in the intervals between them.”)
In early 1915, in a battle with the Ottoman-allied al-Rashidi clan, Shakespear was killed and decapitated, his helmet taken to Medina as a trophy for the Ottomans. His death cleared the scene for T.E. Lawrence, and inaugurated a switch in British policy: favoring Sharif Hussein bin Ali’s Hashemite dynasty in the Hejaz over Ibn Saud’s as the leader of the Arab Revolt, and a prevised Arab state thereafter.
Although, with Lawrence’s help, they were ultimately successful in defeating the Ottomans, the Arabs would not get their Promised Land, a unified Arab state from Aleppo to Oman. The Sykes-Picot Agreement, signed in secret in 1916, saw to that. It divided the Levant into mandates for France (Lebanon and Syria) and Britain (Palestine and Iraq); Hashemite dynasties were implanted in Syria, Iraq, and Jordan. The French chased off Faisal bin Hussein, son of Sharif Hussein of the Hejaz, from Syria in 1921. The British installed him a year later as King of Iraq, where the Hashemite monarchy succumbed to a military coup in 1958.
The only surviving Hashemite dynasty still rules Jordan, a state created almost by accident. Faisal bin Hussein was on his way to help his brother Abdullah in Syria when Winston Churchill implored him to renege, using the prospect of a crushing defeat by the French as stick, and the promise of Abdullah’s own dynasty as carrot. The British saw Trans-Jordan’s value mainly as a transit zone between Palestine and Iraq, but also as part of an air corridor (back when flights were relatively short and refuelings many) between Britain and India.
Britain was forced to seek a border arrangement with Ibn Saud because of continuous encroachment and incursions of his Wahhabi forces, which had occupied Jauf on the southern end of the Wadi Sirhan. While the British insisted on a proper, fixed-line border, Ibn Saud proposed a flexible one that could move with the seasonal and generational movements of the tribes. An interesting concept, but not one the British were keen to adopt. The best they could come up with was a buffer state covering the Wadi Sirhan, with Trans-Jordanian influence in the north and Wahhabi influence in the south.
In the end, Wadi Sirhan was offered to Ibn Saud as part of a complex deal that essentially meant compensation for British annexation of Aqaba. In November 1925, the Hadda Agreement stipulated a border not that different from the present one: Wadi Sirhan became part of the Nejd while Aqaba became Trans-Jordanian. Ibn Saud had to relinquish his demand for a corridor to Syria, but gained free right of passage. Britain lost the Hejaz, but retained a sea port for Trans-Jordan and blocked off Wahhabi expansion into Palestine and Egypt. As for Aqaba, Ibn Saud merely accepted the status quo, not its annexation.
The last chapter in the arcane Saudi-Jordanian genesis story was written in 1965, when both countries resolved all outstanding issues with a swap of territory. The Saudis transferred 2,300 square miles to Jordan, while 2,700 square miles went the other way. Seems like a bad deal for the Jordanians, but they did gain eleven extra miles of shoreline south of Aqaba.
Churchill can rest assured: his Hiccup is still intact (even if he never drew it). And who needs four hundred square miles of desert anyway?

Rico says he likes the idea of 'flexible borders'; we could use it with Mexico, whose northern border would now be somewhere near Minnesota...