Democracy for Egypt as seen through the people of Cairo, their spirit, humanity, dignity

Gwenllian Meredith, PhD 

2011

The day I planned a trip back to Egypt was the first day of the political eruption.  Like many others, I put fear first and postponed my trip to this country where I’d lived and worked for three years.  Yet after days of watching the news on all stations, particularly Al Jazeera English, whose reporters gave so much to bring the events to a breathlessly waiting outside world, I vacillated between staying home and watching the events come into being or throwing caution away and go to Cairo.  As the days unfolded and some of the nights erupted into violence, I attempted to phone my friends, find them on Skype, only to learn the government with all its might and financial resources, shut the Egyptian people off from the world. 

Or at least they tried, but to little avail.  Phone service restored, I contacted friends, but continued to watch the protests from the comfort of my home.  When my friends told me they had gone to Tahrir Square, spoke with the protesters, added their support in whatever way possible, I realized I could no longer stay home listening to others giving voice to the events.  As an historian, a former resident of Cairo, I had to be there to be with the people, give as much support as possible, no matter how minimal, witness the city, the drama, and hopefully see the birth of the immense transformations demanded by Egypt’s people.  The insistent nagging voice telling me I could no longer listen to others accounts of the action, but must be there myself won the day, I left any doubts behind and flew to an Egypt in turmoil. 

In these few short weeks since 25 January, the face of Egypt changed dramatically.  And there I was actually walking among the protesters in Tahrir Square, the young, old, Muslim, Christian, wealthy, poor, student, and unemployed, the illiterate, the hopeful, and those without hope, gathered.  I felt an unspeakable bond with the protesters, an energy and determination emanating from all, a quality unusual for Egyptians.  Here they assembled, some in tents, others sitting on ledges, united for one seemingly insurmountable goal.  I met former students coming into the square, one of whom flew in from Oxford just to be in the Square.  Now a Master’s student, Farida had the same feelings as many, she had to be there to support her country.  Others repeated over and over again how for the first time in their lives they felt proud to be Egyptian.  Another former student, Marwa, like Farida, from the privileged Egyptian class, spent every day amidst her country people, telling me ‘finally I’m proud to be Egyptian.

Women queue for Tahrir Square

This most dramatic change for Egyptians and Egyptian history I too needed to be a part, to share, however small.  As I stood in the women’s queue waiting to enter Tahrir Square, women of all ages chattered enthusiastically in Arabic and in English.  The sensation of camaraderie, warmth, spilled into the air.  Welcome, thank you for coming!  These were their comments, echoing those I heard earlier in the day walking through the streets of Zamalek, Agouza, and crossing the Qasr el Nil. 

The focal point of the protest, the main city square encircled by the huge Mogama [government building] on one side, the old palace once belonging to the American University in Cairo, shops, the Egyptian Museum, in its pink splendor, and Qasr el Nil [lion bridge across the Nile], has drawn the eyes of the world.  The faces, the welcome given to those coming to support, the order amid a city usually immersed in chaos, the cleanliness, the queues to enter, surprisingly systematic and organized, an uncommon occurrence in Egypt, was an experience no news broadcast, no matter how good, how insightful, could televise.  Young, old, men, women, students, tent dwellers, people bringing in food, water, supplies for daily sustenance, conversations bristled with intent; so many languages, English, Arabic, French, German, signs in Arabic and English emphatically stating the dream of democracy, freedom, death to the regime were everywhere.    

 When I took out my camera, at first hesitant, I was invited to take pictures, please, they said, let the world know, let them see our determination, send your pictures out.  As I photographed faces, signs, tents, and tent dwellers, they smiled, their eyes glistened with tears and pride, and one assurance they gave – we will never give up, never, not until the regime is gone, not until we have democracy, dignity, and freedom.

The people of Egypt garnered the courage to fight against an intolerable insult to their humanity, against a dictatorial regime which had been suppressing them for the past thirty years and more.

Camping out for democracy

  The remarkable bravery of Egyptians, normally a very gentle people, to stand up for themselves and demand, not ask, for basic human rights deserved by every individual, no matter their race, creed, religion or political agenda.

 As I took their pictures, shared their bread and offerings of fruit, the one thing they kept repeating, don’t worry, we’ll never give up this struggle, we must honor our dead, the dead whose names are written on each sheet of paper taped to the rails, the dead whose pictures envelop the Square,

the dead whose names remain permanently imprinted on our memories, the dead who believed in a freedom for which they sacrificed their lives.  To give up the struggle would be the ultimate dishonor.    

Sharing food, refusing to concede

 They’d come so far, too many years imprisoned by poverty, to turn away, this would not end until all Egyptians could revel in freedom.

Opinions still rage as to what finally motivated and sparked this conflagration which now is lighting its way across the Middle East.  These opinions will continue for an untold time and perhaps not be immediately solved – at least to the satisfaction of many ruling or political elites.  But what of the Egyptian people themselves?  Who are they; will they again become lost in the mire of political speak?  Over 300 died, mostly the young and courageous who gave more than the necessary 100% to gain rights determining their future, their hopes, dreams, and aspirations for a life with choices, a life of equity, which those of us in the West enjoy without thinking.    

Most Egyptians live far below the poverty line; suffer daily indignities in a constant struggle to maintain a semblance of life, too tired and worn out to find the energy needed to fight the existing system.         

Keep the people hungry and they won’t be able to resist the political megaliths eating away at their souls.         

  As usual traffic was at a standstill in the main streets, just getting from the airport to Agouza, a suburb nearer the center of Cairo, took over an hour.  On a good day, the trip can be made in twenty minutes.  Egyptians attempted to carry on with work, trucks loaded with food coming in from country farms, bread sellers riding their bicycles balancing huge trays of aish balady on their heads, carts loaded with fruit and veggies dotting the streets, and donkey carts driving alongside cars, trucks, taxis, Cairo didn’t appear any different, no signs of the trouble in Tahrir, with one exception, the military tanks stationed along the roads, soldiers with machine guns, usually pointed at the ground, and roadblocks limiting access to certain routes.

My old stomping ground in Zamalek, the suburbs of Agouza, Mohandesin, Masr Gadida [Heliopolis], and other locales hummed with the never ending stream of activity which identifies the sprawling 20,000,000 strong city of Cairo.  It wouldn’t be a Cairo without the noise, congestion, pollution, horns honking, refuse littering the streets, but there is an endearing quality to the city and its people which makes it possible to overlook things which in other cities would be unforgiveable. 

Trouble came in the early days of the protest, but the regime backed down.  Thereafter, the protesters remained relatively unmolested.  As I sat in the airport heading for home on the fateful night in which the former president, Mr Mubarek gave his speech refusing to step down, I could almost feel the despair of those sitting with hopeful anticipation in the Square.  Earlier that evening before leaving for the airport, the media suddenly speculated that perhaps the regime recognized it could no longer continue. My German friend Hanna, an unsung hero of Egyptian life, living in Cairo for thirty years, married to an Egyptian, shed tears of joy at the thought of a successful end to the protest.  But joy quickly faded to frustration and anger.

Hanna and her students in Tahrir

Not for long, the next evening, in probably one of the shortest speeches of resignation ever, a thirty year dictatorship ended.  Celebrations began in all of Egypt.  In Cairo they celebrated as only Cairenes know how.  It reminded me of the year 2006 when they won the Africa cup and celebrated in the streets, disrupted traffic until dawn the next day.  Now the rebuilding process must begin with hope that Egypt will begin a better life for its millions who live so burdened with pain, suffering, and loss, and to the memory of those who gave their lives and their all in the fight to see the glimmering light of a democratic change in Egypt. 

In honor of Egyptian courage, their ongoing struggle for democracy, these pictures and words are dedicated.

Crowds of traffic entering area around Tahrir

Entrance to Lion Bridge Qasr el Nil

Students desiring democratic right to vote

Students voicing choices

social media –mobile phones and the never ending in-tent conversations

Burned out government building

                               

Life on less than two dollars a day, a cart, a donkey, some fruit and veg…the never ending struggle for survival

Sitting amidst the rubble and noise to sell an orange

American University in Cairo adjacent to Mogama

Egyptian Museum