The Long Haul

They're camped out in Tahrir again.

A tent city has sprung up to house those displeased with the feet dragging of the military men running Egypt. The scene is at once festive and urgent. Acoustic performances precede chants of "The people want the fall of the Field Marshall" (Tantawi, the head of the military council). And when the government allegedly cut the electricity in Tahrir last week, memories of the Revolution's martyrs kept the square aglow until dawn.

Over the past few days, I've read many an Egyptian youth quoted in the paper saying something to the effect of: "Mubarak is gone, but his regime remains. We will not leave the square until we're satisfied."

And so a sort of rough, interactive check on power has taken place where the people occupy the square as a simple "no" vote on issues such as the pace of transition to a civilian government and Prime Minister Sharaf's new cabinet picks. It is democracy in its chaotic, physical form, the only recourse of a people without democracy in writing.

The revolution must go on. For the sake of Egyptian dignity. For the sake of casting a compass for the Arab world. For the sake of shattering all of the hypocrisy and condescension that has gone into supporting Arab strongmen at the expense of the Arabs themselves. For the sake of seeing the odious old man of Sharm el Sheikh behind bars.

The Egyptian military still carries great respect among Egyptians of all backgrounds. But for this covenant to stay in tact, the council needs to reciprocate with greater respect for civil society. Rather than censoring the press, lecturing youth leaders of the Revolution, and maneuvering to write their power into the new Constitution, the generals should remember that this was a Revolution, and not a coup.

A few analysts have connected Egypt today with Turkey 20 years ago, when the Turks were stifled by a poor economy and a meddling army. Turkey's military retains great power today, but is also a relatively healthy democracy with an average income of $13,000. The other path drawn from present-day Egypt is to Pakistan, where a civilian leadership cowers before the military and the economy runs on foreign aid.

Cultivating a strong civilian leadership starts in Tahrir, where this week the people's chanting drowned out a military spokesman who came to appeal for patience. The people still want the fall of the regime, and in its place one of their own.

Dispatch from Tahrir

6/29/11

The following is a brief account of the recent clashes between police and protesters in the streets of Cairo as I saw them. This is just a snapshot. If you want the backstory check the international media. In short, an incident Tuesday (6/28) night, in which police would not let a crowd of people into a theater to commemorate those who died during the Revolution, sparked an overnight standoff that carried through this afternoon (and perhaps even now)

I got word of the unrest while at work, a few miles down Cairo's corniche from Tahrir Square. Twitter was crackling with indignation at the police response to the protestors. "How can these pigs call us thugs?"; "A group of doctors carrying medical supplies to Tahrir have been arrested."; "Guys, if u wanna come to Tahrir, bring water, vinegar, and food, we're starving."

I asked one of my colleagues about the wisdom of going to Tahrir. He struck me as a deliberate guy, and he had warned me to approach an uneventful protest last month carefully. "You should go," he said. 'There might not be another opportunity this exciting while you are here."

And so I went. I arrived in Tahrir proper about 1:30 pm and saw smoke creeping up the street where the American University of Cairo stands. The street was strewn with rocks and charcoaled rubble. Young men with bandanas as shields from the smoke were dragging barricade fences up the street with vigor. As I walked further down the street, my eyes began to simmer and I saw passersby weeping from the tear gas. People lined the sidewalk in clusters, where they seemed to be recounting the day's action and checking for any battle wounds that they could wear proudly. One man raised a bloody hand to wipe a face full of anguish. Others posed with their bandages for grateful photojournalists. There were also several crowds forming around men who were shouting and gesturing widely at each other. My limited Arabic kept me in the dark as to their grievances.

I turned down a street that had a climactic look to it - an army truck was parked at the far end, while a small fire smoldered in the foreground. Droves of men with arms linked shouted "back to the square!" and strode past me. I came to the barricade at the end of this street. Riot police had erected a fence and were lined up across from about 50 protestors. Some youth had climbed atop the fence and were shouting slogans at the police, who would not engage with direct eye contact but instead muttered replies and stood rooted to the ground. I walked round this scene, all the while taking pictures.

Then a scowling man caught my eye. I looked back and sensed that I had triggered something unpleasant in him. He marched towards me and rapped my chest with his stubby finger.

"Where you from?"

I stuttered while saying, "Amrika."

"You sure?"

I offered my passport as proof, which he pored over much more carefully than had the immigration official who admitted me to the country. Every stamp was suspicious. Why Egypt? Why now? I simply said, "I am a student. I like Egypt."

"Ok. I thought you were from Israel. Be careful."

This accusation is making its way into the official repertoire. I won't say much other than that I hope xenophobia does not reach the levels it did during the Revolution, when government propaganda spoke ominously of a foreign hand and several journalists were attacked. This is not about to happen again. People are by and large hospitable. But the accusation of espionage against foreign nationals has been used. It is a sensitive time.

I left Tahrir today knowing that the Revolution is ongoing, that popular protest is a necessary antidote to official inertia, and that many people here are still subject to the whims of a few.