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.