Seven years ago, on January 25th, the Egyptian Revolution was televised. Millions of Egyptians rose up to reclaim their country from the military junta that had controlled it for over 60 years. For 18 days, the world watched as the Tahrir saga unfolded: the Friday of Fury, the Battle of the Camels, the stubborn dictator, the killing of peaceful protestors, the chanting of “Irhal”, and the Egyptians’ resilience and political humor. After the dust settled, the media moved on to other news cycles, but the revolution has not ended. Egyptians continue to protest at Tahrir Square and elsewhere, still willing to die for their freedom.
To document this event, a journalist recently made the eight-hour flight to Paris, followed by a five-hour layover and a shorter flight to Cairo. On board, they encountered a high-ranking Coptic cleric and an Afghani “Salafy” man, both on their way to Saudi Arabia.
Upon arriving in Cairo, the journalist was struck by the absence of police and security. Everywhere they looked, the walls were covered with revolutionary art, and the city seemed new and vibrant. After 5000 years, Egyptians had re-discovered their ancient trade of writing their stories on the walls.
The following day, the journalist visited Tahrir Square, where they witnessed the “one-million-man march” of Salafy supporters in support of their presidential front runner Hazem Abu Ismail. Everywhere they looked, the streets were filled with people minding their own business and feeling free to do as they pleased. It was a sight that had been missing from Cairo for years.
TAHRIR VISIT
At 1 p.m. the following day, I awoke in my sister’s sixth-floor apartment in a building on a small street just a few blocks from Tahrir Square. It was a Friday afternoon in April, but through the shuttered windows, the air felt hot like summer. The family’s mood was tense; people did not know what to expect during the molyoniyah (one-million man march). This was the first one after a truce had been struck between protestors and police security, following the tens of people killed in Maspero, the Magles Elshaab strike, the Mohamed Mahmoud street protest and the Port Said massacres. I was a little worried, as this was my first Tahrir visit since the revolution. I had been there in 1972 for a general sit-in during Sadat’s era and had learned firsthand about police brutality, but I had been younger then. Now, I didn’t know what to do or how it was going to turn out. I was equipped with a Tahrir “survival kit” from the United States, including good sturdy tennis shoes, a hoody, strong jeans with lots of pockets, sweets and snacks, pepper spray, and a small Bloggie camera. I also had my old, expired Egyptian passport to use as I.D., just in case. The anti-American sentiment was high that week, following the NGO military raids that had taken place a few weeks before. I was accompanied by two of my twenty-something nephews, Islam (a Salafy and Hazem Abu Ismail supporter) and Mohamed, who had been in the trenches from the beginning. We started walking at about 3:45pm toward Tahrir. The scouting report indicated that the Square was getting full, and my Salafy guy, Islam, called and gave us the go-ahead sign. We reached Qasr Elaini Street, the main artery to Tahrir Square. Already the flow of demonstrators was overwhelming with people coming from everywhere. The street was blocked by barbed wire with only a crack for an opening to keep an orderly entry. As we approached the square, I was trembling, excited, my heart beat was racing. ‘This is it,’ I thought. ‘This is the place that a few months ago had witnessed the most amazing historical event in Egypt history.’ That night Tahrir was gearing for another molyoniyah called for by the supporters of their new Salafy presidential front runner, Hazem Abu Ismail. During my stay in Egypt, I attended three major Molyaniyahs at Tahrir Square. The one I described was organized by the Salafy faction, another was by the well-organized Muslim Brotherhood, Ahkwan, and the last one by all factions and political groups, called “Save the Revolution Day,” which was the most impressive one, where I met people from all over Egypt. Everyone was talking, every faction featuring their own grand stands, and most people were shopping around for new ideas. Debates were taking place everywhere. I saw a Salafy surrounded by a hostile crowd, while he remained calm and deliberate. He asked everyone to give him a chance to explain his views, and they did. Soon people started laughing and he joined the crowd.
On all my visits to Tahrir Square and other demonstrations, I never saw any violence from the crowd. Khaled Abol Naga, Egyptian Tahrir prince and filmmaker, explained that “we only have violence when we have police or military present.” Tahrir looked like a huge carnival of ideas and grievances. The Square has its own reverence now, and people respect it since it symbolizes the revolutionary spirit. Any altercations were dealt with promptly. People know it is a place for everyone to come and feel safe to speak and express their views. More than anything, it symbolizes the anti-Mubarak era. Seven years later, Egypt has fallen back into the grip of a paranoid military dictator who is acting like North Korea’s Kim Jong-un, building prisons instead of schools, and now gates sorrowing Tahrir Square preventing any celebration or gathering in the most significant place in Egypt. Tahrir Square, the Liberty Square, has become a symbol of tyranny and oppression, and the freedom trail has been broken.
