Panoramic (Egypt Revolution Update)…

“The ultimate tragedy is not the oppression and cruelty by the bad people but the silence over that by the good people.” Martin Luther King, Jr.

Panoramic by Atticus Ross

Interrupting the update process…

I recently submitted an article I wrote to a former employer for posting on their internal website. The article was about my experiences during the recent Egyptian revolution. Since the website is inaccessible to the public i’m going to re-post it here.

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I had spent the last 15 minutes hiding out in an abandoned storefront with two bouquets full of roses in my arms listening to the chants fade away in the distance. I blinked back tears as the teargas began to dissipate, and it occurred to me that this is by far the most surreal experience I’ve had in my life.

It was now Valentine’s Day in Cairo and though the revolution had been officially over for some time following President Mubarek’s departure from office, sporadic protests and crackdowns were still taking place in the city. One such demonstration had caught me by surprise while I tried to bring flowers to two friends of mine at their apartment near Tahrir Square.

I’ve been studying for my Masters degree for almost two years here in Egypt. Prior to the revolution occurring, I don’t think anyone– international relations professional or layperson– could have predicted that the uprising in Tunisia would resonate so well with the population in Egypt. At the American University in Cairo, a lecture scheduled for the week the protests began had planned to discuss the Tunisia revolution and why it could not happen here in Egypt.

I arrived back in Cairo for the spring semester on January 26^th, the day after the revolution started. Though optimistic at the thought of a protest movement taking place in Cairo, I held very little personal hope that this would grow into something larger. The security apparatus within the country, a President in power for several decades, and a massive gap between the wealthy and the poor, all contributed to a view expressed by many of my colleagues: Egypt simply would not be able to get itself together for a revolution. Clearly, we couldn’t have been more mistaken.

The night of the 26^th I arrived, exhausted, back to my apartment near Tahrir Square and the High Court. Jetlagged and weary, I immediately fell asleep. I awoke the next morning to the sounds of screaming outside my building and a number of ‘bangs’ I would later recognize as teargas being fired. Outside my window the streets were a throng of people pushing and jostling against a line of police in riot gear. The internet was down by this point and having nowhere to go, I firmly decided that going back to sleep was a perfectly reasonable plan.

I eventually relocated to a friend’s apartment who was staying alone near the Ministry of Interior. That night the worst of the fighting seemed to take place. As the sun set, we could hear protesters pushing the police back in the direction of the Ministry. In the distance from the roof of our building, we could see the National Democratic Party building burning slowly on the far side of the Square. I contacted the Embassy several times as the evening progressed and the warnings and advice grew more dire: ‘Stay in your apartment. Barricade the doors. Turn off all the lights. The police have been issued shoot to kill orders. Do not leave unless your life is in danger’. By this time buildings nearby had been set on fire from a few petrol bombs. We could hear the sound of glass shattering as several stores were looted and cars were set on fire. The air was filled with the booming of shotguns and the smaller pop of rifle and handgun fire. My friend and I succeeded in moving some heavy furniture in front of the door and had blacked out the apartment. We couldn’t, however, stay away from the windows where the streets and buildings were full of fire, smoke, and the sounds of people yelling. As the protesters pushed closer to the Ministry, the gunfire became more intense and sustained. The police began abandoning their posts and banged on our door demanding money and clothes so they could try and escape.  I was told later that approximately thirty people had been killed in the streets outside the building.

What happened that night remains an anomaly of the protest movement in Egypt. The attitude within Tahrir Square, the camaraderie and the organization, all run contrary to the violence of that evening. As many news commentators would go on to point out, the Egyptians had lost their fear of the police and state security. Now many of them were angry and wanted the greatest symbol of the regime torn down into pieces.

After two days near the Ministry we relocated outside of Cairo to another friend’s apartment. By this time, many prisoners had been released from the prisons and neighborhoods had formed armed patrols and checkpoints. Our car was stopped by several teens and a few adults with a collection of bats, kitchen knives, a Japanese sword, and the occasional handgun. During this time I had managed to get instructions to my family on how to call my Egyptian cell phone. It was impossible for me to call out, but they could now call in. The Embassy had begun preparing evacuation flights for American citizens, but fearing the huge crowds at the airport and a long wait, I arranged a commercial flight to Istanbul and then on to Frankfurt to stay with family.

I returned to Cairo five or six  days after I evacuated. I spent many days in Tahrir Square talking with protesters and people who had been arrested and detained by the police or military. I photographed the streets outside the square that had come to look like a warzone. And I stood in awe at the sacrifice and dedication I saw from Egyptian people determined to see the end of a regime that had stood for most of their lives.

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In the square there was a KFC that had been converted to a makeshift pharmacy and clinic. Doctors rushed around tending to the injured and sick. A Pizza Hut had been gutted and turned into a soup kitchen, where volunteers handed out food and water to protesters in need. Tents had been erected in the center of the Square, and the tech savvy had broken into the power lines for the street lamps to provide electricity to satellite dishes, TV sets, and communications. A ring of security had been erected leading into the square that was 3 layers deep. Anyone entering had to have their ID checked 2-3 times and received a pat-down and bag search. They had volunteers manning separate lines for men and women.

I was there the disappointing night when everyone believed the President would announce he was stepping down and instead refused to succumb to pressure. The wave of anger in the crowd was palpable at the close of his speech, as hundreds took off shoes and held them up, sole facing the speakers. And I was there when he finally did step down and the square erupted into celebration.

It can be hard to quantify and explain a series of events that truly has to be experienced to be understood. It’s hard to boil it down into a few lessons or ideas that I walked away with. For one, the importance that an Embassy can play in a time of crisis was never more apparent. The Embassy here became a lifeline for American citizens seeking word from their families and information on the situation as it developed. There are around 90,000 American citizens in Egypt. Whether the Embassy is helping you with your visa issues, working out a business arrangement, funding a democracy initiative, or providing assistance during a revolution, no organization is more committed to helping its citizens abroad then the State Department and our Embassies overseas.

A second would be just how unpredictable living abroad can be, both from a personal and a political standpoint. The revolution in Egypt caught governments, corporations, universities, and people completely flat-footed. In the absence of assistance, it will always come down to taking care of yourself, keeping your head, and being able to, on occasion, laugh a little about it all.  In my correspondence with my former supervisor, I developed a new appreciation both for the role embassy’s plays in crisis events and the level of professionalism and concern voiced by my colleagues as the revolution developed. Everyone that I have had the privilege to work with remains committed to democracy and the promotion of human rights. I am continually impressed with the work they do.

In the end, a story about a revolution isn’t really about politics. It’s about finding yourself somewhere in the middle of a crowd chanting for something you believe in so much you’d be willing to die for it.  It’s about love of something greater and the hope to see it come to pass. It’s about loss. It’s about gain. It’s about governments that refuse to listen and a people who find themselves again.

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