Abdel Rahman El Gabarty :The Political Command Causality {Tribute Series}
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The Echoes of Tragedy: May Zeyada and Al-Gabarty
May Zeyada’s narrative and life tragedy may not appeal to everyone. However, history has done justice to her suffering—particularly the arranged conspiracy she endured at the hands of her own family. Despite the pain, her name echoes across generations and regions, from the Arab world to beyond, as a testament to the literary strength and intellectual grace she left behind.
Even a century later, her words remain relevant. Zeyada's tragic story has, in a way, amplified her recognition not only as a professional author but also as a resilient and dignified personality. She is a model to be respected, studied, and remembered by those who admire her journey.
The Tragedy That Lived On
In this sense, May Zeyada’s story is a bright side of a tragic narrative—a legacy built from pain but which outlived the conspiracy. Ironically, her relatives—the very ones who orchestrated her confinement—may not have expected that their act of betrayal would be immortalized in literature and collective memory.
Unlike many others who suffer and vanish into anonymity, Zeyada became a symbol. For those with malicious intent, the ultimate victory lies in erasing traces of their crimes. But Zeyada’s story defied that erasure. She endured, and her words endured with her.
The Silencing of Al-Gabarty
Contrast this with another story: that of Abdel Rahman Al-Gabarty, one of Egypt’s most renowned historians. Al-Gabarty was respected for his precise documentation and intellectual integrity, known for traveling across Egypt to record events with remarkable detail.
His relationship with Mohamed Ali Pasha, the ruler of Egypt in the 19th century, was tense. Al-Gabarty’s frank and unfiltered writings did not sit well with the Pasha, whose reputation was both celebrated and feared. Mohamed Ali was known for his ruthless governance, yet he also laid the foundations for modern Egypt.
Though no official confrontation was recorded, the silence came in another form. Al-Gabarty’s son, Ibrahim, was found dead—reportedly from a hit-and-run accident. But everyone understood the message. No one was held accountable, and Al-Gabarty, overcome by grief and trauma, withdrew from public life, ceased writing, and eventually went blind from mourning.
The Blood and the Pen
Mohamed Ali Pasha ultimately got what he wanted: the pen silenced. While his legacy is widely recognized for modernizing Egypt, few acknowledge the paranoia and authoritarianism that accompanied his leadership. His decisive rule was often inseparable from violence and suppression, and the case of Al-Gabarty—though under-discussed—is telling.
That the ruler feared the words of a historian more than swords or guns says much about the power of the written word. Words, it seems, are a formidable enemy—difficult to kill, harder to forget.
Perhaps this is the ultimate fear of tyrants: not just opposition, but memory.
Mohamed Ali himself suffered from paranoia in his final years. Perhaps the blood on his hands and the legacy of his ruthless policies were too great to escape. While his paranoia is seldom mentioned in modern retellings of his rule, it is a fact noted in some historical accounts (see suggested references).
What Makes a Tragedy Endure?
Unlike May Zeyada’s widely remembered story, Al-Gabarty's pain remains obscure in cultural and media discourse. Despite his scholarly contributions and the personal loss he endured, his tragedy never resonated across continents or generations the way Zeyada’s has.
Zeyada, the woman confined in a psychiatric hospital by her own family, stigmatized and silenced, died unmarried and childless—with only a few attending her funeral. And yet, her story traveled.
Gabarty, with his documented precision, his familial connections, and his tension with the ruler, is seldom remembered in this light.
This contrast is worth deep reflection. It raises questions about who gets remembered, who gets forgotten, and why.
Is it the visibility of pain, the romanticism of isolation, or the timing of tragedy that allows some stories to echo through time while others fade into the margins?
Final Thoughts
There is something sobering about the selective memory of history. Stories like Zeyada’s offer hope for justice through remembrance, while stories like Gabarty’s highlight the many tragedies lost in silence.
Perhaps the real tragedy is not only what was suffered—but what was silenced.
References:
May Zeyada:
Zeidan, Joseph T. Arab Women Novelists: The Formative Years and Beyond. SUNY Press, 1995.
Booth, Marilyn. May Ziadeh and the Imagined World of the Arabic Woman Writer. In The Cambridge History of Arabic Literature: Modern Arabic Literature.
Abdel Rahman Al-Gabarty:
Al-Jabarti, Abd al-Rahman. Napoleon in Egypt: Al-Jabarti's Chronicle of the French Occupation, 1798.
Cleveland, William L., and Martin Bunton. A History of the Modern Middle East. Westview Press, 2016.
Fahmy, Khaled. All the Pasha’s Men: Mehmed Ali, His Army and the Making of Modern Egypt.
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