Showing posts with label 2011. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 2011. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
The Need for Police Reform in Egypt
I just published my new piece on Fikra Forum today focused on the importance of reforming Egypt's police force (read it here). With so much attention being devoted to Egypt's upcoming parliamentary elections (the first since Mubarak's fall in February) it is easy to overlook the underlying problems that plague the country's security services. As I argue in my piece, however, political and economic development cannot occur in the absence of fundamental changes in the relationship between the police and Egypt's citizens. My other two published articles on Fikra Forum can be found here and here.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Egypt's Treason Law: Using Mubarak-era Tactics to Keep Mubarak's Cronies Out
Earlier this summer, I wrote an article for the Washington Institute for Near East Policy's "Fikra Forum" about the ongoing economic debate in Egypt. Today, I just published my second piece on the site. This article is about Egypt's newly-amended "Treason Law," which is aimed at keeping Hosni Mubarak's former cronies in the now-defunct National Democratic Party out of Egypt's future political scene. As you will see in my article, however, this law has the potential to backfire and open the door to a new era of dictatorship in Egypt. You can find it here on Fikra Forum.
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Seasons of Love in Egypt
Have you ever sat on a subway platform with your significant other, making small talk and whispering sweet nothings to each other as train after train passes by? Or found a cozy spot for cuddling under an overpass that cuts through the middle of the city? Probably not - unless, that is, you see an element of romance in urban transport infrastructure.
In Egypt, however, such public places are considered prime spots for young lovers to meet and spend time with each other. It is common to see couples huddling close together in adjoining seats in subway stations, busy sidewalks, and even grassy medians in the center of large streets.
At first glance, this phenomenon runs counter to the conventional wisdom that Egypt is a conservative society where the two sexes remain largely separate until marriage. Dating, at least in the American sense, is much less widespread here, and premarital sex is taboo. If a man and woman are interested in each other, they are generally unable to visit each other at either of their houses. Even after graduating college, most unmarried women live with their families. Every man knows that if he were to call on her at her family’s house he would either be turned away or, if he were allowed in, would not be able to spend any time alone with the object of his desire.
In response to these social constraints, the younger generations have realized that the best way to keep love hidden is to bring it into the public view! The subway stations, parks, and streets that lovers populate at all hours of the day are open to people from all walks of life. At the same time, however, there is a level of anonymity in these spaces that does not exist at home. While it is rare to see people kissing in public, there is plenty of PDA. Hand-holding, cheek-to-cheek contact, and pecks on the cheek that could almost be considered kisses are commonplace, even in the midst of a cacophony of horns or the crush of riders entering and exiting the subway.
Taking a page out of Romeo and Juliet (minus the bloody ending, of course), young Egyptians have proved once again that true love is always able to overcome any obstacle in its path.
In Egypt, however, such public places are considered prime spots for young lovers to meet and spend time with each other. It is common to see couples huddling close together in adjoining seats in subway stations, busy sidewalks, and even grassy medians in the center of large streets.
At first glance, this phenomenon runs counter to the conventional wisdom that Egypt is a conservative society where the two sexes remain largely separate until marriage. Dating, at least in the American sense, is much less widespread here, and premarital sex is taboo. If a man and woman are interested in each other, they are generally unable to visit each other at either of their houses. Even after graduating college, most unmarried women live with their families. Every man knows that if he were to call on her at her family’s house he would either be turned away or, if he were allowed in, would not be able to spend any time alone with the object of his desire.
In response to these social constraints, the younger generations have realized that the best way to keep love hidden is to bring it into the public view! The subway stations, parks, and streets that lovers populate at all hours of the day are open to people from all walks of life. At the same time, however, there is a level of anonymity in these spaces that does not exist at home. While it is rare to see people kissing in public, there is plenty of PDA. Hand-holding, cheek-to-cheek contact, and pecks on the cheek that could almost be considered kisses are commonplace, even in the midst of a cacophony of horns or the crush of riders entering and exiting the subway.
Taking a page out of Romeo and Juliet (minus the bloody ending, of course), young Egyptians have proved once again that true love is always able to overcome any obstacle in its path.
Monday, September 19, 2011
Jon Stewart Comes to Egypt
For nearly 60 years, Egypt’s ruling class used rumors of foreign conspiracies to divert attention from the country’s internal problems. Sticking to the script, the Mubarak regime did its best to convince the Egyptian people that agents from Israel, the U.S., and Europe were driving the January 25 uprising. It failed. Unfortunately, though, loose talk about foreign agents, hostile elements, and, of course, Israeli spies seeking to undermine Egyptian interests continues to play an unsettlingly prominent role in the media in post-Mubarak Egypt.
Thankfully, the counter-conspiracy campaign has begun, and its leader is a man named Bassem Yousuf (pictured here doing his best Mubarak impression).
Yousuf, who models himself after Jon Stewart (and looks a bit like him, too), began to broadcast satirical news segments soon after the fall of Mubarak in which he focused on exposing the many audacious claims about foreign conspiracies that fearmongerers had been making during the 18-day uprising. Using tried and true Stewartian tactics, Yousuf interspersed clips from Egyptian news and talk shows with his own sarcastic commentary. In some cases, such as the aftermath of the divisive constitutional referendum in March, he would also use his bully pulpit to speak out against polarization or sensationalism and appeal for tolerance and calm. Just as Stewart often appears to be the voice of reason above the fray, Yousuf has carefully avoided associating himself with any specific political party or ideology.
Yousuf has found an audience in Egypt, especially among the youth. Several friends and I had the pleasure of listening to him speak at a local cultural center last weekend, and when we arrived we found that the lecture hall, which seats at least several hundred people, was filled to the brim. Nearly all of the attendees were under the age of 30, and they listened with rapt attention as Yousuf stressed the importance of critically analyzing every news item or opinion that they see on television or read in the paper. I was also particularly heartened to hear his comments on the need for civil discourse about key social issues: “We Egyptians are not used to serious conversations about important issues like sex, religion, and gender,” he said, “but we need to have these conversations, and the only way that they will be constructive is if we debate ideas instead of attacking the personality or allegiance of someone who does not share our viewpoint. We can disagree, but we must remember that at the end of the day we are all Egyptians and we all want to make our country better.”
Amen.
PS: After a several month hiatus, Yousuf’s program was picked up by an Egyptian television station for the month of Ramadan, and rumor has it that he now has a contract that runs for the rest of the year. For any Arabic speakers reading this blog, you can find the Ramadan episodes here and the earlier episodes here.
Thankfully, the counter-conspiracy campaign has begun, and its leader is a man named Bassem Yousuf (pictured here doing his best Mubarak impression).
Yousuf, who models himself after Jon Stewart (and looks a bit like him, too), began to broadcast satirical news segments soon after the fall of Mubarak in which he focused on exposing the many audacious claims about foreign conspiracies that fearmongerers had been making during the 18-day uprising. Using tried and true Stewartian tactics, Yousuf interspersed clips from Egyptian news and talk shows with his own sarcastic commentary. In some cases, such as the aftermath of the divisive constitutional referendum in March, he would also use his bully pulpit to speak out against polarization or sensationalism and appeal for tolerance and calm. Just as Stewart often appears to be the voice of reason above the fray, Yousuf has carefully avoided associating himself with any specific political party or ideology.
Yousuf has found an audience in Egypt, especially among the youth. Several friends and I had the pleasure of listening to him speak at a local cultural center last weekend, and when we arrived we found that the lecture hall, which seats at least several hundred people, was filled to the brim. Nearly all of the attendees were under the age of 30, and they listened with rapt attention as Yousuf stressed the importance of critically analyzing every news item or opinion that they see on television or read in the paper. I was also particularly heartened to hear his comments on the need for civil discourse about key social issues: “We Egyptians are not used to serious conversations about important issues like sex, religion, and gender,” he said, “but we need to have these conversations, and the only way that they will be constructive is if we debate ideas instead of attacking the personality or allegiance of someone who does not share our viewpoint. We can disagree, but we must remember that at the end of the day we are all Egyptians and we all want to make our country better.”
Amen.
PS: After a several month hiatus, Yousuf’s program was picked up by an Egyptian television station for the month of Ramadan, and rumor has it that he now has a contract that runs for the rest of the year. For any Arabic speakers reading this blog, you can find the Ramadan episodes here and the earlier episodes here.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
A Ramadan Unlike Any Other
While I was trekking through Turkey during the month of August, Egyptians were busy fasting during the day and partying at night during the Muslim holy month of Ramadan.
I managed to return just in time for the end of Ramadan. Daily life in Egypt between the hours of 9 AM and 4 PM during Ramadan is surprisingly normal. People go to work, the streets are full of cars (and the accompanying noise is just as annoying as ever), and you would never know that they are doing all of that without any food or water! As several friends explained it to me, you make it through Ramadan for three reasons: (1) Over the course of the 28 day fast, your body adjusts to eating large meals at night and nothing during the day, (2) Everyone else is doing it, so there is a feeling of companionship and brotherhood with your fellow fasters, and (3) you have a giant party to look forward to once the sun sets!
Unfortunately we non-Egyptian city dwellers did not have as much access to the party scene as we would have liked. The real parties, as I was repeatedly told, happen in the countryside where families gather together for huge feasts every night with their neighbors and the music blares deep into the night. While that description might include a little bit of embellishment courtesy of my Egyptian friends who were wishing that they could have been celebrating at home, I don’t think it is too far from the truth…
Celebrating iftar, the sundown break-the-fast meal, was still pretty fun in the city. Every restaurant is packed with families, and the glum, tired faces brighten the second after everyone hears the muezzin’s call signifying that the sun has set. After dinner, people pour out into the streets to socialize and shop, and many of them stay there until the wee hours of the morning.
None of those observations about Ramadan, however, represent anything out of the ordinary. Indeed, the reason why I refer to this past Ramadan a Ramadan unlike any other has nothing to do with the normal traditions. Instead, this was the first Ramadan in the post-Mubarak Egypt. No longer did the newspapers carry headline pictures of Mubarak and his wife praying together at his favorite mosque on the outskirts of Cairo. Furthermore, the celebratory Ramadan banners hung between houses in narrow alleyways and on traffic roundabouts now carried the names of a variety of political parties. Prominent among them were the Salafi “Hizb al-Nur” (“Party of Light”), representing the hardline Islamists and the Muslim Brotherhood’s “Hizb al-Huriya wa al-Adala” (Party of Freedom and Justice). Seeing banners openly promoting the Muslim Brotherhood or the Salafis’ political wings would have been unthinkable a year ago.
After Ramadan ends, Muslims celebrate Eid al-Fitr, a three-day long celebration that includes gift-giving and, of course, more feasting. The first day of Eid begins with morning prayers at 6:00 AM. Mosques throughout the country overflow, and the attendees who can’t find space inside spill out into the streets and listen to the imam’s sermon on mats under large canopies.
I spent Eid with an Egyptian friend in Alexandria. While I was unable to drag myself out of bed at that early hour to attend prayers, my friend returned later that morning with a full report. After opening his front door and stepping onto the adjacent main street, he was confronted with two choices: to his left were canopies filled with Salafis, and to his right were canopies filled with supporters of the Muslim Brotherhood. Members of both groups were milling around in the crowds distributing party literature and membership information.
“So which side did you pray on?” I asked him.
“The Muslim Brotherhood,” he replied and added with a laugh, “I didn’t have a choice! They’re crazy, but not as crazy as the Salafis!”
The debate between the religious and the secular parties is really heating up here. I’ll have some more posts on this topic in the coming weeks.
I managed to return just in time for the end of Ramadan. Daily life in Egypt between the hours of 9 AM and 4 PM during Ramadan is surprisingly normal. People go to work, the streets are full of cars (and the accompanying noise is just as annoying as ever), and you would never know that they are doing all of that without any food or water! As several friends explained it to me, you make it through Ramadan for three reasons: (1) Over the course of the 28 day fast, your body adjusts to eating large meals at night and nothing during the day, (2) Everyone else is doing it, so there is a feeling of companionship and brotherhood with your fellow fasters, and (3) you have a giant party to look forward to once the sun sets!
Unfortunately we non-Egyptian city dwellers did not have as much access to the party scene as we would have liked. The real parties, as I was repeatedly told, happen in the countryside where families gather together for huge feasts every night with their neighbors and the music blares deep into the night. While that description might include a little bit of embellishment courtesy of my Egyptian friends who were wishing that they could have been celebrating at home, I don’t think it is too far from the truth…
Celebrating iftar, the sundown break-the-fast meal, was still pretty fun in the city. Every restaurant is packed with families, and the glum, tired faces brighten the second after everyone hears the muezzin’s call signifying that the sun has set. After dinner, people pour out into the streets to socialize and shop, and many of them stay there until the wee hours of the morning.
None of those observations about Ramadan, however, represent anything out of the ordinary. Indeed, the reason why I refer to this past Ramadan a Ramadan unlike any other has nothing to do with the normal traditions. Instead, this was the first Ramadan in the post-Mubarak Egypt. No longer did the newspapers carry headline pictures of Mubarak and his wife praying together at his favorite mosque on the outskirts of Cairo. Furthermore, the celebratory Ramadan banners hung between houses in narrow alleyways and on traffic roundabouts now carried the names of a variety of political parties. Prominent among them were the Salafi “Hizb al-Nur” (“Party of Light”), representing the hardline Islamists and the Muslim Brotherhood’s “Hizb al-Huriya wa al-Adala” (Party of Freedom and Justice). Seeing banners openly promoting the Muslim Brotherhood or the Salafis’ political wings would have been unthinkable a year ago.
After Ramadan ends, Muslims celebrate Eid al-Fitr, a three-day long celebration that includes gift-giving and, of course, more feasting. The first day of Eid begins with morning prayers at 6:00 AM. Mosques throughout the country overflow, and the attendees who can’t find space inside spill out into the streets and listen to the imam’s sermon on mats under large canopies.
I spent Eid with an Egyptian friend in Alexandria. While I was unable to drag myself out of bed at that early hour to attend prayers, my friend returned later that morning with a full report. After opening his front door and stepping onto the adjacent main street, he was confronted with two choices: to his left were canopies filled with Salafis, and to his right were canopies filled with supporters of the Muslim Brotherhood. Members of both groups were milling around in the crowds distributing party literature and membership information.
“So which side did you pray on?” I asked him.
“The Muslim Brotherhood,” he replied and added with a laugh, “I didn’t have a choice! They’re crazy, but not as crazy as the Salafis!”
The debate between the religious and the secular parties is really heating up here. I’ll have some more posts on this topic in the coming weeks.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
A Long Turkish Jaunt
After four weeks of traveling in Turkey, I returned to Cairo last night. While we were ostensibly "on vacation" in Turkey, I hesitate to use that term because this trip was anything but a relaxing, beach resort experience. We traveled nearly 2,500 miles by bus (including several overnight trips), and we spent many hours under the hot August sun visiting historical sites, hiking, and, of course, gorging ourselves on delicious Turkish food.
Our itinerary included pretty much every region of Turkey: we spent a week on the Aegean coast, a few days in the middle of the country, another few days near the Black Sea in the northeast, a week in eastern Turkey ("Kurdistan," as many easterners prefer to call it), and then a week in Ankara and Istanbul.
Aside from our ambitious schedule, the biggest challenge of the trip was certainly the language barrier. While Turkish contains some words imported from Arabic (colloquial Arabic also has borrowed a number of Turkish words), the grammatical structures of the two languages are completely different. Because so few Turks spoke English, we were compelled to communicate using the most basic of basic vocabularies (we managed to learn simple questions and numbers) and hand motions. That caveman-esque communication system enabled us to scrape by, but we had very few opportunities to connect with Turks in the way that we are able to connect with Egyptians.
Thus, while we learned a great deal about Turkey throughout our four weeks there, I cannot write with any authority on the subject of Turkey's politics or culture. For now, I will sum up my experience in Turkey with a few photographs. Because of my aversion to taking photos, the credit for these pictures goes to my travel partner Chris Opila.
An ancient volcanic eruption at Nemrut Dagi, Turkey's second tallest mountain, left a huge crater with a beautiful lake perfect for swimming.
Ataturk, the founder of modern-day Turkey, made his name at the battle at Gallipoli in WWI, holding off a joint Australian, British, and French assault aimed at taking the Bosphorus.
Ani, once an old silk road city in northeast Turkey, has been reduced to ruins on a grassy plain.
The Sumela Monastery, carved into the mountains near the Black Sea coast, was one of the most breathtaking sights that we saw during our four weeks in Turkey.
With its several thousand years of history, Turkey often combines the very old with the very new. The hilltop ruins of Pergamon, an old Roman city, overlook the new town of Pergamon.
The hot springs at Pamukkale, Turkey's version of Yellowstone.
Finally, despite Ataturk's militant secularism, Turkey is still very much a Muslim country and has a rich Islamic history as well. The Suleymaniye Mosque in Istanbul was built in the 16th century during the reign of Suleyman the Magnificent, one of the most famous Ottoman sultans. The inside of the mosque is just as beautiful as the outside.
Our itinerary included pretty much every region of Turkey: we spent a week on the Aegean coast, a few days in the middle of the country, another few days near the Black Sea in the northeast, a week in eastern Turkey ("Kurdistan," as many easterners prefer to call it), and then a week in Ankara and Istanbul.
Aside from our ambitious schedule, the biggest challenge of the trip was certainly the language barrier. While Turkish contains some words imported from Arabic (colloquial Arabic also has borrowed a number of Turkish words), the grammatical structures of the two languages are completely different. Because so few Turks spoke English, we were compelled to communicate using the most basic of basic vocabularies (we managed to learn simple questions and numbers) and hand motions. That caveman-esque communication system enabled us to scrape by, but we had very few opportunities to connect with Turks in the way that we are able to connect with Egyptians.
Thus, while we learned a great deal about Turkey throughout our four weeks there, I cannot write with any authority on the subject of Turkey's politics or culture. For now, I will sum up my experience in Turkey with a few photographs. Because of my aversion to taking photos, the credit for these pictures goes to my travel partner Chris Opila.
An ancient volcanic eruption at Nemrut Dagi, Turkey's second tallest mountain, left a huge crater with a beautiful lake perfect for swimming.
Ataturk, the founder of modern-day Turkey, made his name at the battle at Gallipoli in WWI, holding off a joint Australian, British, and French assault aimed at taking the Bosphorus.
Ani, once an old silk road city in northeast Turkey, has been reduced to ruins on a grassy plain.
The Sumela Monastery, carved into the mountains near the Black Sea coast, was one of the most breathtaking sights that we saw during our four weeks in Turkey.
With its several thousand years of history, Turkey often combines the very old with the very new. The hilltop ruins of Pergamon, an old Roman city, overlook the new town of Pergamon.
The hot springs at Pamukkale, Turkey's version of Yellowstone.
Finally, despite Ataturk's militant secularism, Turkey is still very much a Muslim country and has a rich Islamic history as well. The Suleymaniye Mosque in Istanbul was built in the 16th century during the reign of Suleyman the Magnificent, one of the most famous Ottoman sultans. The inside of the mosque is just as beautiful as the outside.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Tahrir Comes Back to Life
Since last Friday, Tahrir Square has once again become the center of the Egyptian revolution. What started as a nationwide day of protest calling for police officers and government ministers accused of murder and corruption to be brought to justice has now turned into a full-fledged movement demanding the resignation of Field Marshal Hussein Tantawi (the leader of the ruling military council) and Prime Minister Essam Sharaf.
I am not going to spend a lot of time going into the specific political demands of the protesters. For that information, I suggest Al-Jazeera or the blog of my housemate Chris, both of which provide constant analysis of the latest political developments. Instead, I want to provide some general perspective on the overall environment in the square.
While Tahrir is technically a public place, a strong security contingent has sprung up at every entrance to the square. In order to avoid potential conflict, there is absolutely no police presence in the square. Instead, the protest organizing committee has enlisted groups of young men and women to check ID cards, search bags, and perform pat-downs for everyone entering the square. When I attended the protests on Friday, the makeshift security apparatus was initially hesitant to let me in to the square, but they were mollified when an Egyptian friend who I was with vouched for me. In what seems to be a holdover from the Mubarak regime, there are still people who believe that there are rogue actors and foreign conspiracies attempting to hinder the revolution. Nevertheless, despite a few wary glances and three requests to see my AUC ID card, I found nearly all of the protesters whom I talked with to be quite welcoming and interested in hearing my perspective on this new occupation of Tahrir.
During the large protests last Friday, Tahrir resembled a summer music festival in the U.S. There were stages in various parts of the square with politicians and activists addressing the crowd and chanting slogans. Large, colorful banners adorned all parts of the square, echoing the chants of the protesters who were calling for justice, freedom, and an end to military rule. Some vendors, taking advantage of the mass of people and the oppressive heat, hawked drinks and food throughout the day, and others sought to capitalize off the revolution by selling patriotic flags, shirts, and hats. It is impossible to estimate exactly how many people came to Tahrir on Friday, but the number was certainly in the tens of thousands.
It is hard to generalize the types of people who have been in Tahrir for the past few days. While there is a large youth contingent, I also saw plenty of middle-aged and older protesters, too. While there are women in Tahrir, the square remains largely male-dominated. I would estimate that it is about an 80/20 ratio of men to women. Public space in Egypt is often male-dominated (especially at night), and Tahrir is no exception.
Although the Friday protests came to an end and there were no specific activities in Tahrir on Saturday, a diehard group of revolutionaries continued to occupy the square. They have set up a large tent camp in the middle of Tahrir, and the square has remained under the supervision of the volunteer security guards and closed to traffic. The protesters intend for their occupation of Tahrir to be a symbol of resistance to the military council, but they have achieved another significant accomplishment: there has been a dramatic reduction in traffic and noise-pollution in downtown Cairo. The dowsha and zahma that often characterizes the square has been replaced by lively political conversations, live music, and poetry readings. While Tahrir will certainly re-open to traffic at some point, I can’t help but wish that the square would be made into a pedestrian-only area…
As Egypt is back in the middle of the work week, the square is fairly calm during the day. Everyday after 5 PM, however, when most Egyptians have finished work and the weather has cooled off, the square comes back to life. While it is unclear whether these protests will actually force the military council to bend to the demands of the protesters, it is undeniable that the spirit of the revolution has once again returned to the center of Cairo.
I am not going to spend a lot of time going into the specific political demands of the protesters. For that information, I suggest Al-Jazeera or the blog of my housemate Chris, both of which provide constant analysis of the latest political developments. Instead, I want to provide some general perspective on the overall environment in the square.
While Tahrir is technically a public place, a strong security contingent has sprung up at every entrance to the square. In order to avoid potential conflict, there is absolutely no police presence in the square. Instead, the protest organizing committee has enlisted groups of young men and women to check ID cards, search bags, and perform pat-downs for everyone entering the square. When I attended the protests on Friday, the makeshift security apparatus was initially hesitant to let me in to the square, but they were mollified when an Egyptian friend who I was with vouched for me. In what seems to be a holdover from the Mubarak regime, there are still people who believe that there are rogue actors and foreign conspiracies attempting to hinder the revolution. Nevertheless, despite a few wary glances and three requests to see my AUC ID card, I found nearly all of the protesters whom I talked with to be quite welcoming and interested in hearing my perspective on this new occupation of Tahrir.
During the large protests last Friday, Tahrir resembled a summer music festival in the U.S. There were stages in various parts of the square with politicians and activists addressing the crowd and chanting slogans. Large, colorful banners adorned all parts of the square, echoing the chants of the protesters who were calling for justice, freedom, and an end to military rule. Some vendors, taking advantage of the mass of people and the oppressive heat, hawked drinks and food throughout the day, and others sought to capitalize off the revolution by selling patriotic flags, shirts, and hats. It is impossible to estimate exactly how many people came to Tahrir on Friday, but the number was certainly in the tens of thousands.
It is hard to generalize the types of people who have been in Tahrir for the past few days. While there is a large youth contingent, I also saw plenty of middle-aged and older protesters, too. While there are women in Tahrir, the square remains largely male-dominated. I would estimate that it is about an 80/20 ratio of men to women. Public space in Egypt is often male-dominated (especially at night), and Tahrir is no exception.
Although the Friday protests came to an end and there were no specific activities in Tahrir on Saturday, a diehard group of revolutionaries continued to occupy the square. They have set up a large tent camp in the middle of Tahrir, and the square has remained under the supervision of the volunteer security guards and closed to traffic. The protesters intend for their occupation of Tahrir to be a symbol of resistance to the military council, but they have achieved another significant accomplishment: there has been a dramatic reduction in traffic and noise-pollution in downtown Cairo. The dowsha and zahma that often characterizes the square has been replaced by lively political conversations, live music, and poetry readings. While Tahrir will certainly re-open to traffic at some point, I can’t help but wish that the square would be made into a pedestrian-only area…
As Egypt is back in the middle of the work week, the square is fairly calm during the day. Everyday after 5 PM, however, when most Egyptians have finished work and the weather has cooled off, the square comes back to life. While it is unclear whether these protests will actually force the military council to bend to the demands of the protesters, it is undeniable that the spirit of the revolution has once again returned to the center of Cairo.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
The Focus Turns to Midan Al-Tahrir (Again)
"Friday, July 8 is the single most important day in Egypt since Mubarak's ouster on February 11." -- Alaa Al-Aswany, Egyptian writer and political commentator
Hundreds of thousands (possibly one million) Egyptians are expected to descend upon Tahrir Square tomorrow in what will likely be the largest protest in the square since Hosni Mubarak relinquished power in February. The protest enjoys the support of all the major political parties in Egypt (including the liberals and the Islamists), and the parties are claiming to have cast their ideological divisions aside in order to come out as a unified force tomorrow. All the groups have gathered under the banner of economic reform, freedom, and social justice. There is also a big focus on pushing the military council to speed-up the judicial process for both the elements of the Mubarak regime charged with corruption and the police officers charged with murder during the January revolution.
In general, many Egyptians that I have talked to over the past few days feel that this is their best chance to "put the revolution back on the right track." There have been several clashes between protesters and police over the past few weeks - largely in response to several trial postponements that have been interpreted as attempts by those on the military council to protect their former cronies. In addition to the growing discontent with the military council, many people have become disillusioned by the petty fighting between the many political parties and the growing rift between the liberals and the Islamists. Furthermore, the country's economy is still suffering from a drop in tourism and foreign investment after the revolution.
Over the past month, I have felt that Tahrir has become more of a "Speaker's Corner" than the center of a revolution. Everyone is always eager to talk, but it is unclear that those gathering there have anything to show for it. Tomorrow, however, may well be different. The sheer spectacle of a mass of humanity once again in the square, united by a list of simple demands, might push the military council to bow to the will of the protesters. On the other hand, there is also a chance that tomorrow's protest could lead to violent clashes (especially if a group of people try once again to attack the Interior Ministry). As Egyptians like to say: "rabina yestoorna" (may God protect us).
I will be back with an update tomorrow. For those of you following on twitter, use #tahrir, #jul8, and #egypt
Hundreds of thousands (possibly one million) Egyptians are expected to descend upon Tahrir Square tomorrow in what will likely be the largest protest in the square since Hosni Mubarak relinquished power in February. The protest enjoys the support of all the major political parties in Egypt (including the liberals and the Islamists), and the parties are claiming to have cast their ideological divisions aside in order to come out as a unified force tomorrow. All the groups have gathered under the banner of economic reform, freedom, and social justice. There is also a big focus on pushing the military council to speed-up the judicial process for both the elements of the Mubarak regime charged with corruption and the police officers charged with murder during the January revolution.
In general, many Egyptians that I have talked to over the past few days feel that this is their best chance to "put the revolution back on the right track." There have been several clashes between protesters and police over the past few weeks - largely in response to several trial postponements that have been interpreted as attempts by those on the military council to protect their former cronies. In addition to the growing discontent with the military council, many people have become disillusioned by the petty fighting between the many political parties and the growing rift between the liberals and the Islamists. Furthermore, the country's economy is still suffering from a drop in tourism and foreign investment after the revolution.
Over the past month, I have felt that Tahrir has become more of a "Speaker's Corner" than the center of a revolution. Everyone is always eager to talk, but it is unclear that those gathering there have anything to show for it. Tomorrow, however, may well be different. The sheer spectacle of a mass of humanity once again in the square, united by a list of simple demands, might push the military council to bow to the will of the protesters. On the other hand, there is also a chance that tomorrow's protest could lead to violent clashes (especially if a group of people try once again to attack the Interior Ministry). As Egyptians like to say: "rabina yestoorna" (may God protect us).
I will be back with an update tomorrow. For those of you following on twitter, use #tahrir, #jul8, and #egypt
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Across the Egyptian Twitterverse
Tonight I attended a “Tweet Nadwa” in Cairo. This nadwa (which translates into English as “seminar” or “conference”), as its name suggests, was organized via twitter and facebook and brought together Egyptians for a discussion about social justice and the future of Egypt. Try as I might to summarize the meeting in 140 characters or less on twitter, I simply cannot do it. Instead, I’ve turned to the blog, which gives me much more space to discuss and analyze tonight’s nadwa in detail.
The event was held in a theater nestled in the alleyways of downtown Cairo, and the room was already packed when I arrived a few minutes before 6:30. I was one of the lucky ones who was able to find a spot on the floor – a few minutes after I sat down, the theater was filled entirely to capacity with people in seats, on the floor, and in the aisles. This being my first twitter-organized event I didn’t quite know what to expect…I assumed that everyone might be spending the entire time with their noses buried in their blackberries, focusing more on their tweets than on the actual content of the discussion. As the moderator explained, however, the event was meant to be much more of a town-hall style meeting and, while a projector screen displayed a live feed of tweets from the audience members, audience members who wanted to contribute would be given a microphone instead of a smartphone. The moderator posed a topic for discussion, and then passed the microphone around to audience members and five prominent tweeters who were sitting on chairs in the front of the theater. Each person could speak for no more than 140 seconds (a nod to Twitter’s 140 character limit). Knowing what sort of rhetorical gems town hall meetings in the U.S. have yielded (e.g. “Keep your government hands off my Medicare”), I was quite excited to see how this concept would play out in an Egyptian context.
Before getting into the actual content of the discussion, a few observations about the overall feel in the room. The audience was generally young, quite politically and socially liberal (both from the nature of the discussion and their preferred styles of clothing), and clearly very tech-savvy. As far as I could tell, there were no Salafis (who often sport long beards and traditional robes called galabiyyas) and no one who publicly identified with the Muslim Brotherhood. A sense of excitement pervaded the room as the discussion began, and as an outside observer it was hard not to get swept up in the moment. I never imagined last year when I was in Alexandria that this sort of discussion would be taking place just one year later in a post-Mubarak Egypt. It was impossible not to be inspired by several hundred people voluntarily coming together to talk about the future of their country. The level of energy and passion in the room – fed by the feeling that there is a real window of opportunity right now to shape Egypt’s political and economic future – was infectious.
Tonight’s topic was social justice, and the conversation mainly focused on economics. The microphone swiftly changed hands in the beginning of the meeting, with most of the attendees striking idealistic notes about the necessity of improving healthcare and education, raising the minimum wage, etc. Nothing revolutionary, but nevertheless a good way to start the program. After a brief digression in which the attendees argued amongst themselves about how the stock market functioned and whether it was or wasn’t necessary for the country’s future, the discussion heated up when a proud Communist stood up and admonished the crowd for not focusing on the real issues. “You all are forgetting the critical problem here,” he declared, “we need to stop talking about the minimum wage and the stock market and start talking about how to end the capitalist plague that is destroying our country! We must return to the basics and realize that capitalism is inherently unfair!”
The crowd’s attention instantly turned to broad, ideological issues. Instead of clapping, the moderator told the audience members to raise their arms and wave their hands when they agreed with a certain point, and judging by the amount of raised hands and smiles after that mini-Communist manifesto, the man had many allies in the room. Several like-minded thinkers expressed their support for the idea of completely overhauling Egypt’s system, inveighing against the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund (among other foreign countries and institutions) for making the rich richer and the poor poorer while tacitly approving the pervasive corruption in the Mubarak regime.
The capitalists in the room were not as vocal, but a few brave souls did stand up to defend their position. “What we had in Egypt for the past 30 years,” one said, “was not capitalism. It was simply despotism.” Another chimed in: “we’ve tried socialism and it didn’t work!” While nobody endorsed the Mubarak regime’s version of capitalism, the capitalists did win a fair amount of head nods and raised hands during their responses to the communist and socialist salvos.
The back-and-forth debate between the capitalists and the communists/socialists continued for some time, but there were two speakers who I found particularly engaging. One man stood up in the middle of the debate and, quite calmly and skillfully, attacked both the capitalists and the communists at the same time: “This question of whether we should have a capitalist or a communist system here in Egypt is not as important,” he declared, “as this question: who will administer the system? If there is anything we have learned in the past 60 years, it is that no matter what ideology we follow, we are ultimately doomed to fail if we have bad leaders. Pick either one of these ideologies, but remember that our success or failure will ultimately be determined by who is making the decisions and not some theoretical framework for how things should work.” While I didn’t speak at the meeting and generally refrained from reacting to any of the statements from one side or the other, I couldn’t help but raise my hand in support of that statement. Soon afterwards, another man stood up and brought up an equally important point: “While it is important to talk about macroeconomics and large companies,” he said, “we also have to focus on small-scale issues. So many young people have business plans or inventions that they want to capitalize on, but our system makes it unbelievably hard for anyone to open their own business. Why should we have to get 15 permits from the government to open a small shop, and why is it so hard for us to get any start-up capital? Change has to come from the bottom, too, and we need to start by completely overhauling the system to make it easier for us young people to go into business for ourselves.” I, and many of the other people in the room, raised our hands in support of this point, too.
Finally, I was very interested by the constant comparisons of Egypt to other countries. Many people backed up their statements by saying “in America they do this” or “in Scandinavia they do that,” and there were several points in the discussion when people used specific examples from American political or economic history. Many of the moderates in the room advocated that Egypt look to northern European countries as models for how to balance capitalism and social justice, but just as many people shook their heads emphatically whenever someone said that Egyptians should look to foreign countries as they design their own system. One speaker garnered a sea of raised hands when he declared simply: “screw capitalism and communism, let’s invent a new and better system here in Egypt!” Nevertheless, America was certainly the most commonly referenced foreign country throughout the discussion. Interestingly, while there were occasional mentions of developing countries such as Brazil and Korea, no one said anything about the Chinese model.
As a whole, I would characterize the discussion as decidedly more focused on social justice and closing the gap between the rich and the poor than most discussions about economic issues in the U.S. Despite a rising culture of consumption here in Egypt and a tendency for the rich to flaunt their wealth, I think people are very conscious of the huge class divide that emerged during the Mubarak regime, and they want to take definite actions to solve the problem. “We must judge our government,” one woman declared, “on the basis of how it treats the weakest people in our society.” If this twitter nadwa is actually representative of the Egyptian liberal movement as a whole, I would expect to see a definite shift to more populist policies if they liberals gain a significant amount of seats in the parliamentary elections.
As I have written before, someone walking the streets of Egypt these days who didn’t know about what happened in January and February would probably not think that this country is undergoing dramatic changes. There are specific times, however, when the gravity of what is happening in Egypt hits you like a tsunami. Tonight was certainly one of those times, and I will certainly be returning to the next twitter nadwa. The attendees’ enthusiasm, optimism, and genuine desire to change their country for the better was truly inspiring.
The event was held in a theater nestled in the alleyways of downtown Cairo, and the room was already packed when I arrived a few minutes before 6:30. I was one of the lucky ones who was able to find a spot on the floor – a few minutes after I sat down, the theater was filled entirely to capacity with people in seats, on the floor, and in the aisles. This being my first twitter-organized event I didn’t quite know what to expect…I assumed that everyone might be spending the entire time with their noses buried in their blackberries, focusing more on their tweets than on the actual content of the discussion. As the moderator explained, however, the event was meant to be much more of a town-hall style meeting and, while a projector screen displayed a live feed of tweets from the audience members, audience members who wanted to contribute would be given a microphone instead of a smartphone. The moderator posed a topic for discussion, and then passed the microphone around to audience members and five prominent tweeters who were sitting on chairs in the front of the theater. Each person could speak for no more than 140 seconds (a nod to Twitter’s 140 character limit). Knowing what sort of rhetorical gems town hall meetings in the U.S. have yielded (e.g. “Keep your government hands off my Medicare”), I was quite excited to see how this concept would play out in an Egyptian context.
Before getting into the actual content of the discussion, a few observations about the overall feel in the room. The audience was generally young, quite politically and socially liberal (both from the nature of the discussion and their preferred styles of clothing), and clearly very tech-savvy. As far as I could tell, there were no Salafis (who often sport long beards and traditional robes called galabiyyas) and no one who publicly identified with the Muslim Brotherhood. A sense of excitement pervaded the room as the discussion began, and as an outside observer it was hard not to get swept up in the moment. I never imagined last year when I was in Alexandria that this sort of discussion would be taking place just one year later in a post-Mubarak Egypt. It was impossible not to be inspired by several hundred people voluntarily coming together to talk about the future of their country. The level of energy and passion in the room – fed by the feeling that there is a real window of opportunity right now to shape Egypt’s political and economic future – was infectious.
Tonight’s topic was social justice, and the conversation mainly focused on economics. The microphone swiftly changed hands in the beginning of the meeting, with most of the attendees striking idealistic notes about the necessity of improving healthcare and education, raising the minimum wage, etc. Nothing revolutionary, but nevertheless a good way to start the program. After a brief digression in which the attendees argued amongst themselves about how the stock market functioned and whether it was or wasn’t necessary for the country’s future, the discussion heated up when a proud Communist stood up and admonished the crowd for not focusing on the real issues. “You all are forgetting the critical problem here,” he declared, “we need to stop talking about the minimum wage and the stock market and start talking about how to end the capitalist plague that is destroying our country! We must return to the basics and realize that capitalism is inherently unfair!”
The crowd’s attention instantly turned to broad, ideological issues. Instead of clapping, the moderator told the audience members to raise their arms and wave their hands when they agreed with a certain point, and judging by the amount of raised hands and smiles after that mini-Communist manifesto, the man had many allies in the room. Several like-minded thinkers expressed their support for the idea of completely overhauling Egypt’s system, inveighing against the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund (among other foreign countries and institutions) for making the rich richer and the poor poorer while tacitly approving the pervasive corruption in the Mubarak regime.
The capitalists in the room were not as vocal, but a few brave souls did stand up to defend their position. “What we had in Egypt for the past 30 years,” one said, “was not capitalism. It was simply despotism.” Another chimed in: “we’ve tried socialism and it didn’t work!” While nobody endorsed the Mubarak regime’s version of capitalism, the capitalists did win a fair amount of head nods and raised hands during their responses to the communist and socialist salvos.
The back-and-forth debate between the capitalists and the communists/socialists continued for some time, but there were two speakers who I found particularly engaging. One man stood up in the middle of the debate and, quite calmly and skillfully, attacked both the capitalists and the communists at the same time: “This question of whether we should have a capitalist or a communist system here in Egypt is not as important,” he declared, “as this question: who will administer the system? If there is anything we have learned in the past 60 years, it is that no matter what ideology we follow, we are ultimately doomed to fail if we have bad leaders. Pick either one of these ideologies, but remember that our success or failure will ultimately be determined by who is making the decisions and not some theoretical framework for how things should work.” While I didn’t speak at the meeting and generally refrained from reacting to any of the statements from one side or the other, I couldn’t help but raise my hand in support of that statement. Soon afterwards, another man stood up and brought up an equally important point: “While it is important to talk about macroeconomics and large companies,” he said, “we also have to focus on small-scale issues. So many young people have business plans or inventions that they want to capitalize on, but our system makes it unbelievably hard for anyone to open their own business. Why should we have to get 15 permits from the government to open a small shop, and why is it so hard for us to get any start-up capital? Change has to come from the bottom, too, and we need to start by completely overhauling the system to make it easier for us young people to go into business for ourselves.” I, and many of the other people in the room, raised our hands in support of this point, too.
Finally, I was very interested by the constant comparisons of Egypt to other countries. Many people backed up their statements by saying “in America they do this” or “in Scandinavia they do that,” and there were several points in the discussion when people used specific examples from American political or economic history. Many of the moderates in the room advocated that Egypt look to northern European countries as models for how to balance capitalism and social justice, but just as many people shook their heads emphatically whenever someone said that Egyptians should look to foreign countries as they design their own system. One speaker garnered a sea of raised hands when he declared simply: “screw capitalism and communism, let’s invent a new and better system here in Egypt!” Nevertheless, America was certainly the most commonly referenced foreign country throughout the discussion. Interestingly, while there were occasional mentions of developing countries such as Brazil and Korea, no one said anything about the Chinese model.
As a whole, I would characterize the discussion as decidedly more focused on social justice and closing the gap between the rich and the poor than most discussions about economic issues in the U.S. Despite a rising culture of consumption here in Egypt and a tendency for the rich to flaunt their wealth, I think people are very conscious of the huge class divide that emerged during the Mubarak regime, and they want to take definite actions to solve the problem. “We must judge our government,” one woman declared, “on the basis of how it treats the weakest people in our society.” If this twitter nadwa is actually representative of the Egyptian liberal movement as a whole, I would expect to see a definite shift to more populist policies if they liberals gain a significant amount of seats in the parliamentary elections.
As I have written before, someone walking the streets of Egypt these days who didn’t know about what happened in January and February would probably not think that this country is undergoing dramatic changes. There are specific times, however, when the gravity of what is happening in Egypt hits you like a tsunami. Tonight was certainly one of those times, and I will certainly be returning to the next twitter nadwa. The attendees’ enthusiasm, optimism, and genuine desire to change their country for the better was truly inspiring.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
The AC Revolution
Just a month after graduating from Tufts, I am now back in the midst of academia. Classes have picked up, and I took a weekend trip to Alexandria last weekend that prevented me from posting anything new on the blog. Today, however, is the closest thing we will ever have to a snow day this year. Clashes occurred between protesters and the police in Tahrir Square last night and this morning, and the program has canceled classes today due to ongoing uncertainty about the situation there. I would recommend logging on to Al-Jazeera or BBC to follow the situation, and for those of you who use twitter the best hashtags are #tahrir and #jun28.
----
Speaking of revolutions, I was involved in a mini-uprising last weekend on the train from Cairo to Alexandria. While many aspects of Egyptian public transportation either don’t work or are very uncomfortable for anyone with long legs, the train between Cairo and Alex is a clear exception. Roomy, air-conditioned, and fast, it is by far the easiest and most comfortable way to travel between the two cities.
Last Friday, however, the train service fell short of my high expectations. After leaving 30 minutes behind schedule (no explanation given), I and my fellow passengers soon realized that the air-conditioning in our car did not work. While a broken air-conditioner would not have been an issue in the winter, riding a train in the early afternoon on a summer day without air-conditioning is not very fun.
Ordinarily, this would have been what I call a “Maalesh” moment. Maalesh is a staple of Egyptian dialect, which means, in this context, “oh well, there’s a problem but it’s not going to get fixed and we’ll just have to grin and bear it.”
One woman, however, decided that she was not going to surrender her right to air-conditioning without a fight. She looked to be about 50 or 60 years old, from the middle or upper class, and spoke both English and Arabic. She began to complain right when the train left the station, and she continued to do so until the ticket-taker walked down the aisle in our car about five minutes later. “Where’s the AC?” she demanded to know. The ticket-taker shrugged and was about to continue his journey down the train when the woman piped up again, “How is it that the AC always work on these trains during the winter, but it breaks during the summer?! Go bring the maintenance man and fix this, please!”
The exasperated ticket-taker sighed and asked her to please calm down. That was a mistake. “Calm down?! The AC is broken and you refuse to do anything about it! This is not right!” The woman then turned to the rest of the passengers in the train car, who, up until this point, had been quietly listening to her exchange with the ticket-taker. “Nobody should be silent right now!” she said. “We cannot accept this sort of second-class treatment. We have to demand our rights as passengers!”
“Demanding rights” was one of the trademark phrases of the January revolution, and it effectively stirred up feelings of indignation amongst the other passengers on the train. Amidst a chorus of calls demanding that he bring the maintenance man, the ticket-taker retreated from the train car and muttered that he would be back soon.
After the ticket-taker had left, everyone on the train worked themselves into a frenzy. A woman in a niqab (a full-face covering with a small slit for the eyes) stood up in the aisle and encouraged everyone to get off together and demand a refund when we arrive Alexandria. Several riders used newspapers to fan themselves as the temperature continued to rise. A few men joined with the woman in the niqab in calling for everyone to work together in order to secure a refund in Alexandria.
A few minutes later, the ticket-taker just came back to tell us that the AC was broken and that neither he nor the maintenance man could fix it while the train was running. Before the entire car erupted in fury, he assured us that we could get a partial refund in Alexandria. "How can we be sure that is going to happen?!" simultaneously cried the woman in the niqab, the father of two young girls sitting next to me, and the middle-aged woman who started the whole issue. “Don’t worry,” the ticket-taker said, “everyone who has a ticket showing that they rode in train car number five can bring it to the ticket office and they will give you a refund.”
About twenty minutes later, with the temperature continuing to rise and perspiration visible on everyone’s foreheads, the maintenance man came back into the car and tried to improve the situation by opening up the four small windows in the front and back of the train car. The plan backfired. Upon opening the first window, a cloud of dust blew into the train, further agitating the riders in the front of the train car. Then, as he went to open a window at the back of the car, an old man began to yell at the maintenance man that he didn't want that window to be opened. The maintenance man claimed that it wasn't the man's choice, the whole train needed air, which only made the old man angrier. As the maintenance man left the car, the man continued to yell at him, screaming “kalb!” (dog!), which is considered a serious insult in Arabic.
As the journey continued, the train car remained abuzz with chatter. People declared that they were tired of things not working, we planned our group march to the ticket office to secure a refund, and others inveighed against the employees of the train company. There was an army officer on the train, too, and as the chatter continued one of the riders asked him to speak up: "Are you not a citizen just like us?!" The woman in the niqab led the charge, standing up next to her seat in the front of the car and exhorting the rest of the riders to be sure to stay together when the train arrives in Alex and march together to the ticket counter to get our refunds. "We won't accept this kind of second-rate treatment from the train company!" she asserted.
Train trips are usually solitary adventures. While I sometimes strike up a short conversation with the person sitting next to me, I often spend the two and half hours between Cairo and Alexandria reading, sleeping, or gazing at the scenery outside the train car. On this journey, however, everyone in the car became the best of friends. I spent a few minutes talking to the woman in the niqab (the first time that I had ever spoken directly to a woman wearing one), and I schmoozed with the other passengers for the remainder of the journey as well.
As the train pulled into Alexandria, I hurried out and onto the platform because I had to buy a ticket for my return journey and I didn’t want to get caught up in the mass of humanity that surely had the same idea. I reached the ticket office before the rest of my compatriots from train car number five. After a few minutes of standing in line, a group of the train revolutionaries suddenly appeared inside the ticket office and instantly recognized me (probably because I was the only tall blond in the building). I waved them over to my line, and was planning to wait with them until it was our turn to talk to the ticket agent. The woman who started the AC revolution, however, was not as patient. She forced her way to the front of the line and rapped on the glass with her wedding ring, instantly gaining the attention of the bewildered ticket agent. “Refund! Refund!” she demanded. The ticket agent, after consulting his colleagues for a minute, returned and proceeded to disburse the refunds. Each of us received 6.50 Egyptian pounds (a little more than $1), which was 20% of the original ticket price.
The middle-aged female revolutionary received her money first. As she turned to walk away, I congratulated her on a job well done. She turned to me with a mischievous gleam in her eyes and said: "Nobody messes with Egyptian women! We get what we want!"
While maalesh moments still happen quite often in post-revolution Egypt, I do not think that this AC Revolution would have happened last year. It would never have begun without the middle-aged, upper-class female revolutionary, but when she began to speak up everyone soon joined in. This type of mini-social movement is easily exportable to other aspects of daily life in Egypt. When one person speaks out against injustice or mistreatment, frames it in the context of "demanding our rights," and manages to attract supporters to the cause, things can change for the better. Here's to the continuation and escalation of the AC Revolution!
----
Speaking of revolutions, I was involved in a mini-uprising last weekend on the train from Cairo to Alexandria. While many aspects of Egyptian public transportation either don’t work or are very uncomfortable for anyone with long legs, the train between Cairo and Alex is a clear exception. Roomy, air-conditioned, and fast, it is by far the easiest and most comfortable way to travel between the two cities.
Last Friday, however, the train service fell short of my high expectations. After leaving 30 minutes behind schedule (no explanation given), I and my fellow passengers soon realized that the air-conditioning in our car did not work. While a broken air-conditioner would not have been an issue in the winter, riding a train in the early afternoon on a summer day without air-conditioning is not very fun.
Ordinarily, this would have been what I call a “Maalesh” moment. Maalesh is a staple of Egyptian dialect, which means, in this context, “oh well, there’s a problem but it’s not going to get fixed and we’ll just have to grin and bear it.”
One woman, however, decided that she was not going to surrender her right to air-conditioning without a fight. She looked to be about 50 or 60 years old, from the middle or upper class, and spoke both English and Arabic. She began to complain right when the train left the station, and she continued to do so until the ticket-taker walked down the aisle in our car about five minutes later. “Where’s the AC?” she demanded to know. The ticket-taker shrugged and was about to continue his journey down the train when the woman piped up again, “How is it that the AC always work on these trains during the winter, but it breaks during the summer?! Go bring the maintenance man and fix this, please!”
The exasperated ticket-taker sighed and asked her to please calm down. That was a mistake. “Calm down?! The AC is broken and you refuse to do anything about it! This is not right!” The woman then turned to the rest of the passengers in the train car, who, up until this point, had been quietly listening to her exchange with the ticket-taker. “Nobody should be silent right now!” she said. “We cannot accept this sort of second-class treatment. We have to demand our rights as passengers!”
“Demanding rights” was one of the trademark phrases of the January revolution, and it effectively stirred up feelings of indignation amongst the other passengers on the train. Amidst a chorus of calls demanding that he bring the maintenance man, the ticket-taker retreated from the train car and muttered that he would be back soon.
After the ticket-taker had left, everyone on the train worked themselves into a frenzy. A woman in a niqab (a full-face covering with a small slit for the eyes) stood up in the aisle and encouraged everyone to get off together and demand a refund when we arrive Alexandria. Several riders used newspapers to fan themselves as the temperature continued to rise. A few men joined with the woman in the niqab in calling for everyone to work together in order to secure a refund in Alexandria.
A few minutes later, the ticket-taker just came back to tell us that the AC was broken and that neither he nor the maintenance man could fix it while the train was running. Before the entire car erupted in fury, he assured us that we could get a partial refund in Alexandria. "How can we be sure that is going to happen?!" simultaneously cried the woman in the niqab, the father of two young girls sitting next to me, and the middle-aged woman who started the whole issue. “Don’t worry,” the ticket-taker said, “everyone who has a ticket showing that they rode in train car number five can bring it to the ticket office and they will give you a refund.”
About twenty minutes later, with the temperature continuing to rise and perspiration visible on everyone’s foreheads, the maintenance man came back into the car and tried to improve the situation by opening up the four small windows in the front and back of the train car. The plan backfired. Upon opening the first window, a cloud of dust blew into the train, further agitating the riders in the front of the train car. Then, as he went to open a window at the back of the car, an old man began to yell at the maintenance man that he didn't want that window to be opened. The maintenance man claimed that it wasn't the man's choice, the whole train needed air, which only made the old man angrier. As the maintenance man left the car, the man continued to yell at him, screaming “kalb!” (dog!), which is considered a serious insult in Arabic.
As the journey continued, the train car remained abuzz with chatter. People declared that they were tired of things not working, we planned our group march to the ticket office to secure a refund, and others inveighed against the employees of the train company. There was an army officer on the train, too, and as the chatter continued one of the riders asked him to speak up: "Are you not a citizen just like us?!" The woman in the niqab led the charge, standing up next to her seat in the front of the car and exhorting the rest of the riders to be sure to stay together when the train arrives in Alex and march together to the ticket counter to get our refunds. "We won't accept this kind of second-rate treatment from the train company!" she asserted.
Train trips are usually solitary adventures. While I sometimes strike up a short conversation with the person sitting next to me, I often spend the two and half hours between Cairo and Alexandria reading, sleeping, or gazing at the scenery outside the train car. On this journey, however, everyone in the car became the best of friends. I spent a few minutes talking to the woman in the niqab (the first time that I had ever spoken directly to a woman wearing one), and I schmoozed with the other passengers for the remainder of the journey as well.
As the train pulled into Alexandria, I hurried out and onto the platform because I had to buy a ticket for my return journey and I didn’t want to get caught up in the mass of humanity that surely had the same idea. I reached the ticket office before the rest of my compatriots from train car number five. After a few minutes of standing in line, a group of the train revolutionaries suddenly appeared inside the ticket office and instantly recognized me (probably because I was the only tall blond in the building). I waved them over to my line, and was planning to wait with them until it was our turn to talk to the ticket agent. The woman who started the AC revolution, however, was not as patient. She forced her way to the front of the line and rapped on the glass with her wedding ring, instantly gaining the attention of the bewildered ticket agent. “Refund! Refund!” she demanded. The ticket agent, after consulting his colleagues for a minute, returned and proceeded to disburse the refunds. Each of us received 6.50 Egyptian pounds (a little more than $1), which was 20% of the original ticket price.
The middle-aged female revolutionary received her money first. As she turned to walk away, I congratulated her on a job well done. She turned to me with a mischievous gleam in her eyes and said: "Nobody messes with Egyptian women! We get what we want!"
While maalesh moments still happen quite often in post-revolution Egypt, I do not think that this AC Revolution would have happened last year. It would never have begun without the middle-aged, upper-class female revolutionary, but when she began to speak up everyone soon joined in. This type of mini-social movement is easily exportable to other aspects of daily life in Egypt. When one person speaks out against injustice or mistreatment, frames it in the context of "demanding our rights," and manages to attract supporters to the cause, things can change for the better. Here's to the continuation and escalation of the AC Revolution!
Friday, June 10, 2011
Not Your Average First Day of School...
Ever since I started pre-school, my mom always took photos of me in front of our house as I prepared to go to the first day of school. Usually I posed for these photos complacently, although there were a few years in high school when I had a distinct scowl on my face (clearly too cool for school). I was always in front of the house, and, while I looked a little different in each one (taller, new clothes, new hairdo, etc.), there was not much to distinguish one year from another. When school began last Tuesday, however, I decided to carry on this tradition, albeit in a slightly different setting.
I am standing in Tahrir Square, in front of one of the walls of the American University in Cairo, and the Arabic writing behind me reads "Live the Revolution."
While I often feel like this country is pretty much the same as the Egypt that I experienced in 2010, there are times when the magnitude of what happened between January 25 (the start of the protests) and February 11 (Mubarak's ouster) really hits home. Every morning on the taxi ride to school, we drive past the burned out headquarters of Mubarak's National Democratic Party. Ironically, that shell of a building sits right next to the Ritz-Carlton, which is also a shell of a building because it is in the midst of a giant renovation. Walking around downtown Cairo, nearly every available wall facing the street has turned into a a space for public art commemorating the revolution, calling for national unity, and urging Egyptians to take pride in their country. In class this week, the revolution came up in nearly every discussion. And every day dozens of people gather around newsstands in the morning to read the latest headlines about political and economic developments.
Anybody who claims to know how all of this political, social, and economic upheaval will play out is simply lying. But while there is a great deal of uncertainty about this country's future, there is also a distinct sense of accomplishment and optimism that the forces that led to Mubarak's downfall can be channeled to build the new Egypt, too.
I am standing in Tahrir Square, in front of one of the walls of the American University in Cairo, and the Arabic writing behind me reads "Live the Revolution."
While I often feel like this country is pretty much the same as the Egypt that I experienced in 2010, there are times when the magnitude of what happened between January 25 (the start of the protests) and February 11 (Mubarak's ouster) really hits home. Every morning on the taxi ride to school, we drive past the burned out headquarters of Mubarak's National Democratic Party. Ironically, that shell of a building sits right next to the Ritz-Carlton, which is also a shell of a building because it is in the midst of a giant renovation. Walking around downtown Cairo, nearly every available wall facing the street has turned into a a space for public art commemorating the revolution, calling for national unity, and urging Egyptians to take pride in their country. In class this week, the revolution came up in nearly every discussion. And every day dozens of people gather around newsstands in the morning to read the latest headlines about political and economic developments.
Anybody who claims to know how all of this political, social, and economic upheaval will play out is simply lying. But while there is a great deal of uncertainty about this country's future, there is also a distinct sense of accomplishment and optimism that the forces that led to Mubarak's downfall can be channeled to build the new Egypt, too.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
A Trip to Fantasyland
Yesterday was my first and only “true” day of summer. The sun was shining, I swam a few laps in a pristine, Olympic-sized pool, and spent the rest of the day reading and lounging poolside with a few friends. All in all, a very pleasant experience.
Step back for a second. I am in Egypt right now, a developing country in which the provision of clean water to the citizenry is still a major issue. I would venture to guess that less than one percent of the population has ever seen a swimming pool, much less swam in one. While I technically was still in Egypt yesterday, I spent the day in “New Cairo,” a sheltered, phantasmagorical development on the outskirts of Cairo that resembles an upscale suburb of Los Angeles. New Cairo is home, appropriately, to the American University of Cairo’s “New Campus.” AUC’s new home is beautiful. The campus is spacious, the buildings are built in a modern Islamic style that is reminiscent of both the alleyways of Damascus and adobe brick buildings in the American Southwest, and the campus has just about every resource that an American college student is used to (a huge library, beautiful sports complex, WiFi-equipped classrooms, etc.)
The fact that this beautiful campus is in Egypt, though, is decidedly weird. That is not to say that Egypt is not worthy of such a place. Indeed, I’m sure that any Egyptian student would be happy to attend AUC over other Egyptian universities (which tend to lack even the most basic facilities and services and are often just as corrupt as other institutions in the country were under Mubarak). But AUC in general is not composed of Egyptians from all walks of life. It has a reputation for being an exclusive, country-club like university for the children of Egypt’s elite. Classes are primarily in English, there is an “Americana” food court, and it costs $4 just to ride the bus from the center of Cairo to the new campus (a significant fee for all but the richest in this society).
Indeed, the new AUC campus and its surroundings are emblematic of the huge chasm between Egypt’s ultra-rich and the rest of the population. Although Mubarak’s economic and social policies wreaked havoc on the poor during his 30 years in power, the economic liberalization that he oversaw allowed for the formation of a privileged upper-class. The new AUC Campus (and New Cairo in general) are manifestations of the chasm between Egypt’s ultra-rich and the rest of the population. Whereas the average Egyptian living in an urban area resides in a cramped apartment building, takes public transportation, and buys his food from street vendors, the average resident of New Cairo resides in a villa-like house, has one or more cars, and shops at the local mall.
Many Egyptians will certainly tell you that they aspire to live in a place like New Cairo. The residents of New Cairo all enjoy the amenities of life that we in the West could not dream of living without, and which the international community has focused on promoting in the developing world. But New Cairo, in my opinion, does not represent “development” in any meaningful sense of the word. It is easy to forget the hardships of daily life in Egypt while lounging at the AUC pool. There is a fine line, however, between simply living and working in an wealthy, calm area away from the bustle of the city and isolating yourself to the point where you lose all perspective of the way that the other 99% of the society lives.
Step back for a second. I am in Egypt right now, a developing country in which the provision of clean water to the citizenry is still a major issue. I would venture to guess that less than one percent of the population has ever seen a swimming pool, much less swam in one. While I technically was still in Egypt yesterday, I spent the day in “New Cairo,” a sheltered, phantasmagorical development on the outskirts of Cairo that resembles an upscale suburb of Los Angeles. New Cairo is home, appropriately, to the American University of Cairo’s “New Campus.” AUC’s new home is beautiful. The campus is spacious, the buildings are built in a modern Islamic style that is reminiscent of both the alleyways of Damascus and adobe brick buildings in the American Southwest, and the campus has just about every resource that an American college student is used to (a huge library, beautiful sports complex, WiFi-equipped classrooms, etc.)
The fact that this beautiful campus is in Egypt, though, is decidedly weird. That is not to say that Egypt is not worthy of such a place. Indeed, I’m sure that any Egyptian student would be happy to attend AUC over other Egyptian universities (which tend to lack even the most basic facilities and services and are often just as corrupt as other institutions in the country were under Mubarak). But AUC in general is not composed of Egyptians from all walks of life. It has a reputation for being an exclusive, country-club like university for the children of Egypt’s elite. Classes are primarily in English, there is an “Americana” food court, and it costs $4 just to ride the bus from the center of Cairo to the new campus (a significant fee for all but the richest in this society).
Indeed, the new AUC campus and its surroundings are emblematic of the huge chasm between Egypt’s ultra-rich and the rest of the population. Although Mubarak’s economic and social policies wreaked havoc on the poor during his 30 years in power, the economic liberalization that he oversaw allowed for the formation of a privileged upper-class. The new AUC Campus (and New Cairo in general) are manifestations of the chasm between Egypt’s ultra-rich and the rest of the population. Whereas the average Egyptian living in an urban area resides in a cramped apartment building, takes public transportation, and buys his food from street vendors, the average resident of New Cairo resides in a villa-like house, has one or more cars, and shops at the local mall.
Many Egyptians will certainly tell you that they aspire to live in a place like New Cairo. The residents of New Cairo all enjoy the amenities of life that we in the West could not dream of living without, and which the international community has focused on promoting in the developing world. But New Cairo, in my opinion, does not represent “development” in any meaningful sense of the word. It is easy to forget the hardships of daily life in Egypt while lounging at the AUC pool. There is a fine line, however, between simply living and working in an wealthy, calm area away from the bustle of the city and isolating yourself to the point where you lose all perspective of the way that the other 99% of the society lives.
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Back in Egypt!
Over the past two years, I have alternately used this blog for Arabic class assignments and dispatches from my semester abroad in Egypt. It's been just over a year since I finished my junior spring semester in Alexandria, and I am happy to announce that I will be back in Egypt starting on Monday! This time around, I will be there on a fellowship with the Center for Arabic Study Abroad (CASA), a yearlong program affiliated with the University of Texas and American University in Cairo.
Egypt is in the midst of a historic political and social transition, and I am thrilled to have the opportunity to watch this transition unfold firsthand. As I did during my semester abroad, I will fill this blog with my observations of daily life in Egypt, stories of my adventures in Cairo, and analysis of political developments throughout the year. Please feel free to share this blog with anyone that you think might be interested!
More to come soon. Now, it's off to pack and eat one last meal in San Francisco.
Egypt is in the midst of a historic political and social transition, and I am thrilled to have the opportunity to watch this transition unfold firsthand. As I did during my semester abroad, I will fill this blog with my observations of daily life in Egypt, stories of my adventures in Cairo, and analysis of political developments throughout the year. Please feel free to share this blog with anyone that you think might be interested!
More to come soon. Now, it's off to pack and eat one last meal in San Francisco.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)