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"Tahrir," My Revolution

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Two years ago, Egyptians took to the streets to demand “bread, freedom and social justice.” The first demonstrations, which took place on 25 January 2011, rapidly turned into massive protests against Hosni Mubarak and an eighteen-day uprising that led to the Egyptian dictator’s resignation on 11 February.

Two years after, what is left of the January 25 Revolution?

This series of eight videos made by SAMAR MEDIA (click here to find out more) reflects on the events that have been shaking up Egypt since January 2011. Egyptians from diverse backgrounds and with different political orientations give their recollection of “their” revolution and how it impacted Egypt as a whole and also each one of them individually.

They discuss their understanding of the achievements and shortcomings of the “revolution,” and share their struggles, suffering, as well as their hopes and aspirations for their country.

The video featured below shows the first of eight episodes of a series titled ““Tahrir,” My Revolution.” Committed to activism against the Mubarak regime and its abuses well before the eighteen-day uprising, Yasser, a twenty-nine year old member of the April 6 Movement recounts the protest he led with fifty people on 25 January 2011.

This native of Giza and father of two, Yasser goes over the circumstances that led to the election of Mohamed Morsi as the President of Egypt. He explains how the revolution was taken over by the Muslim Brotherhood and regrets what he views as their attempt at establishing an Islamic State.

[Below the video is a description of the seven remaining episodes, along with their respective airing dates.]

            

Episode 2- SAMEH (28 January)

Shopkeeper
Abdin, Cairo
Age: Forty-five

A shopkeeper and a coach for a local football team, Sameh is one of the few residents in his neighborhood who supported the 2011 uprising.

A member of Hosni Mubarak's National Democratic Party until 2000, he later became close to the Muslim Brotherhood. He is satisfied with the results of the presidential elections and some important gains since the revolution. However, he regrets the chaos and the impatience of the Egyptians and the erring ways of some of the youth who, according to him, were ruined by Mubarak’s regime.

Episode 3- RANA (30 January)

A Former employee of a Tourist Agency
October 6 City, Giza
Age: Twenty-four

Rana lost her job as an employee in a Tourist Agency in the aftermath of the eighteen-day uprising, but she does not regret for one moment the time she spent in Tahrir and the feeling of unity that prevailed among all Egyptians there. Since then, she has been fighting against the attempts of disruptive division by those in power, and the manipulation of religion by the Muslim Brotherhood and Salafists who, she claims, do not hesitate to call their political rivals "infidels" in order to discredit them.

Episode 4- MARIAM (1 February)

Research Assistant in an NGO
Heliopolis, Cairo
Age: Twenty-two

At twenty-two, Mariam is a feminist and passionate advocate of human rights. She explains how the revolution broke her fear barrier and made her realize that millions of Egyptians have the same aspirations as hers. During the protests, she says, differences disappear and man and women are equal before the revolution.

Episode 5-AMR (4 February)

Computer engineer
Heliopolis, Cairo
Age: Thirty-one

Born in a politically oriented family (his father was a Gamal Abdel Nasser sympathizer and an Arab nationalist), Amr describes himself as very religious. He was a member of the Muslim Brotherhood. He left them however in 2009 when he realized the group’s reluctance to confront the Hosni Mubarak regime, and its incapacity to devise a new program for change in Egypt. He lost faith in the old guard of the Muslim Brotherhood. He says that his experience in Tahrir continues to transform him daily and he now counts on the Egyptian Youth to redress the country.

Episode 6- NESSMA (6 February)

Student at a Graphic Design school
El Hawamdya, Cairo
Age: Nineteen

Great admirer for many years of the very popular Egyptian TV preacher, Amr Khalid, the young Nessma juggles her studies of Graphic Design and her activities in the heart of the community. In spite of the disruptions and the wandering caused by the Arab uprisings and the Egyptian revolution, she perceives these events as a blessing that will someday lead to a positive outcome. In spite of her young age, she has some clear ideas on the place of religion in her life and the role of women in family and society.

Episode 7- NIHAL (8 February)

Co- founder of Bassma Movement
Dokki, Giza
Age: Twenty-six

Inspired by her family heritage and her faith, Nihal has been socially active in her community since she was a teenager. She explains how the revolution impacted her way of life and her way of thinking. She has since founded a movement made up of volunteers called "Bassma" and that works against sexual harassment in Cairo. She denounces the attitude of the new government led by the Muslim Brotherhood. She adds that the new ruling Party has an obvious problem: "Women."

Episode 8- Shahira (11 February)

Journalist
Maadi, Cairo
Age: Fifty-three

A former anchor of the English-speaking program of the Egyptian State television (Nile TV), Shahira resigned during the eighteen-day uprising in protest against the Government censorship and joined the revolutionaries. Now, two years after these events, she takes us on a general tour of the situation in Egypt. In spite of the frustrations and the suffering of the moment, she notes the gains that were made by the revolution: the taste of freedom, the elections, and the revolution in the media. 


عــامـــان عـلــى 25 يـنــايــــر فــي مصــــر مـكـــــامــــــن الــقــصــــــور فـــي الــثـــــــورة

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تهدف الثورة، أي ثورة، الى دفع السلطة الحاكمة للدخول في علاقات مباشرة مع الجموع، على النحو الذي يمكِّن الثوار من قلب منطق القوة وكيفية ترتيبها، فتتم تعرية ممارسات السلطة، ونزع فتيل الشرعية عنها، ومنعها من الاختفاء وراء علاقات غير مباشرة، أو خلف شبكات متوارية ملساء الوجه. تستدرج الثورة السلطة لكشف وجهها العنيف الذي تلجأ إليه عندما تشعر بالتهديد المطلق على بقائها، أي حين تفقد ميكانزمات الانضباط والسيطرة والخطاب فاعليتها على الجماهير، فتخسر السلطة قدرتها على شن حرب الأفكار والإقناع.

وقد كشفت قوات الأمن عن وجهها العنيف في مساء الخامس والعشرين من يناير (25 كانون الثاني 2011) حينما بدأت بقمع المتظاهرين. وهذه كانت أولى المواجهات المفتوحة والمباشرة بين قطاعات مختلفة من الناس والسلطة. ولقد حدثت مواجهات مماثلة بعض الشيء في مواقف عدة. فقبل الثورة، في إضراب السادس من نيسان/ أبريل 2008، دخلت قوات الأمن المركزي في مواجهات عنيفة مع عمال غزل المحلة. ودخلت أيضا في مواجهات شرسة مع أهالي منطقة الساعة بالإسكندرية. أضف إلى قمع العديد من المظاهرات المختلفة بالعنف الشديد. وفي العموم، تميز عصر مبارك، وبالأخص منذ 2005، بظهور قوات الأمن المركزي واحتكاك السلطة بالعنف مع الجماهير بشكل مباشر وموسع.

ومن خلال تلك المواجهات الواسعة مع الأمن واحتلال المدينة بشكل عام، بفضل رمزية ميدان التحرير (كأحد أهم المواقع في بداية الثورة)، وبعض المحافظات مثل الإسكندرية والسويس والإسماعيلية، قلب الثوار منطق القوة أو معادلتها. ومع إدراك الضباط والعساكر لهذا الانقلاب، انهارت بنيتهم النفسية، فبدت هزيمتهم أمر حتمي.

ويمثل ميدان التحرير مركزية المركز، حيث تتجمع أغلب مؤسسات الدولة فيه وبجواره. وقد عنى احتلاله انقلاباً في علاقات السلطة، حيث أصبح مَنْ في المؤسسات هو المحاصَر والمراقََب والخاضع لسلطة الجماهير. وكانت هذه الاستراتيجية الثورية فعالة لأقصى درجة في البداية، إلا أن السلطة سرعان ما تداركت الأمر واستعادت إمكانيتها في المناورة والتخفي، حيث استوعبت انه ما دامت لا تتسلل الثورة لها وتحتلها مباشرة، فلا وجود لخطورة بالغة عليها، ويمكنها ممارسة سلطتها من مواقع مختلفة ومتعددة. وهكذا تحول احتلال ميدان التحرير إلى عبء حركي على الجماهير وسكان المدينة وليس على السلطة الحاكمة.

محاصرة السلطة

لقد حاصر الثوار في الإسكندرية مبنى الإذاعة والتلفزيون ولكنهم لم يقوموا باقتحامه. بل لم تكن النية أصلاً موجودة لاحتلال المبنى والسيطرة عليه. وعلى الرغم من أن القوة لاقتحام المبنى كانت متوفرة، كانت القدرة على الاحتلال واستمراريته غائبة. ولقد ناقشت مجموعة من القيادات الثورية الشابة والنشطة في الإسكندرية إمكان احتلال مبنى الإذاعة والتلفزيون وأهميته. وكانوا متيقنين من إمكان الاقتحام من دون خسائر كبيرة. أما العجز عن استمرار الاحتلال والاستفادة منه فكان لأسباب عديدة: أولها أن أحدا لن يَسمح باحتلال فئة ما للمكان والسيطرة عليه، لأن الثورة لا تخوضها مجموعة معينة أو أطراف معلومة متحالفة. وبالتالي، وثانياً، فإذا كانت لا توجد فئة معينة تمتلك الشرعية الثورية لاحتلال مكان ما، فيعني بالضرورة عدم إحكام السيطرة على المكان وإمكانية وقوع خلافات حادة بين المحتلين أنفسهم، أو تسلل بعض العناصر المخربة الى صفوفهم. ثالثا، ثار الخوف على المكان من إصابته بأي أحداث تخريب. فلقد كان الثوار على وعي كامل بأهمية الحفاظ على ممتلكات الدولة لاستغلالها والاستفادة منها في مرحلة ما بعد الثورة، بالإضافة إلى الحفاظ على الروح السلمية. وقد منع الثوار رئيس الوزراء شفيق وبقية مجلسه من دخول المجلس الوزاري، وحاصروا كلا من مجلسي الشعب والشورى، وأغلب مؤسسات الدولة المهمة الواقعة في منطقة وسط البلد وميدان التحرير.

ومن المعارك الثورية ونمط تفاعل هذه الثورة على الأرض، يمكن الخروج بنتيجة مفادها أن طبيعة الثورة وأنماط تفاعلها غير قادرة على شن حرب الأماكن واحتلال الدولة والجهات والمؤسسات الصانعة للحكم. وذلك لأسباب عدة أهمها يكمن في قيم الثورة. فالثورة تطرح نموذجاً تعددياً وترسخ التنوع والاختلاف، ولا تعطي حقا شرعيا واحدا لتمثيلها وتحويل ألوانها إلى لون أحادي. وتسعى لتعزيز نموذج من الديموقراطية المباشرة ينزع منها فتيل الهيمنة والاستخدام المضاد لما يسمى بالإرهاب الثوري. وتجلت هذه القيم في شكلها التنظيمي السائل والرخوي والأفقي، باعتمادها على شبكات ممتدة وعضوية أحياناً، لا يوجد فيها تراتبية هرمية للسلطة.

... وسحقها واحتلالها

في المقابل، أثبتت الثورة أنها قادرة على المحاصرة والتضييق، بل على تحطيم بنية السلطة إذا تطلب الأمر. وهو ما حدث بالفعل عندما قام بعض الثوار بحل جهاز أمن الدولة بأنفسهم على عموم الجمهورية. وفي الإسكندرية قام الثوار بتحطيم أبنية السلطة المختلفة بدءاً من المحافظة وهي ممثل السلطة المركزية في المدينة ـ مرورا بآخر الحصون آنذاك، وهو مبنى أمن الدولة في شارع الفراعنة. وكذلك تم اقتحام وحرق مباني أمن الدولة في مدن عدة. ففي السويس، تمت محاصرة قسم الأربعين الذي كان يمثل بطش وعنف السلطة، وفي الاسماعيلية، تم حرق مبنى أمن الدولة عن بكرة أبيه.

تغيير لم يطل البنية التحتية للسلطة

لكن الثورة لم تقم بتغيير منطق القوة وعلاقات السلطة وترتيبها على مستوى تحتي أو عميق وشامل. لذلك احتفظ النظام العام بكثير من ملامحه. لم تستطع الثورة محاسبة قتلة الشهداء، وهو الأمر الذي يسبب انفجاراً بين الحين والآخر. واحتفظ العديد من رجال الأعمال بوضعهم الاجتماعي والاقتصادي، وكذلك الكثير من كبار موظفي الدولة ومؤسساتها الاقتصادية والثقافية والاجتماعية المختلفة. ووقعت حركات احتجاج واسعة النطاق في الجامعات ضد عدد من القيادات الاجتماعية والثقافية، وإضرابات عمالية واجتماعية كعمال مترو الأنفاق، وعمال شركات الكهرباء، والأطباء، كانت تعترض على أوضاع اقتصادية واجتماعية ظالمة أو على استمرار بقاء أشخاص فاسدين على رؤوس هذه المؤسسات والشركات. على الرغم من أننا شهدنا تمردات قوية، كهذه وسواها، نجا الكثير من المتمرَّد عليهم من الثورات الصغيرة داخل مؤسساتهم.

نجحت الثورة في اقتلاع رأس الملك وكثير من المحيطين به، أمثال إبراهيم حسين سالم وفتحي سرور وزكريا عزمي والعدلي. إلا انها لم تستطع اقتلاع رؤوس الفساد والاستبداد على المستويات الأدنى في بنية السلطة المصرية. وعدم تغيير هذه القيادات المختلفة، واستمرارها في مواقعها، أصاب الكثيرين بالإحباط الشديد. إذ هم يرون أن النظام السابق ما زال قائماً، وأن الأشخاص انفسهم ما زالوا يحكمون بالطريقة والنمط السابقين. ويمثل ذلك فشلاً للثورة في حرب الأماكن ضد الدولة.

ضد الممارسات وليس ضد المنظومة

هذه الثورة هي في حقيقة الأمر ضد نمط ممارسات السلطة وليست ضد المنظومة الكاملة التي تسند السلطة. فهي تثور ضد تعسف الشرطة والقهر الاجتماعي والإقصاء والتهميش السياسي والاقتصادي. لكنها لا تثور من أجل تطبيق شرعة ما أو تحقيق نظام اقتصادي وسياسي معين. وهي طالبت وما زالت تطالب - بالعدالة الاجتماعية ولكنها لم تقم لفشل الدولة أو لفشل مشروع الدولة في حد ذاته.

فلم تكن الدولة نفسها عاملاً مهماً في اندلاع هذه الثورة. وإنما كان العنف هو السبب في الثورة، ونمط الممارسات القائم في بعض مؤسسات الدولة مثل الشرطة. ثار الناس على كيفية استخدام الشرطة لحقها في ممارسة العنف لا على حق وشرعية المؤسسة ذاتها في استخدام العنف بشكل عام. ففي نضالات وثورات جذرية، تكون المسألة الرئيسية كيفية ممارسة السلطة أصلا، وهوية من يقوم بها والنمط وتوزيع الحقوق، والشرعيات. اما في الحالة المصرية، فقد قامت الثورة ضد نتائج ممارسات السلطة. ولذلك كانت أول المواقع التي قام الناس بمهاجمتها هي جهاز الشرطة بأكمله، فقامت بتمزيق جسد هذه المؤسسة وتحطيمه. وتمثل ذلك في هزيمة الأمن المركزي، وتعمد إشعال النيران في مركباته من قبل الثوار، وحرق وتحطيم أقسام الشرطة من قبل بعض الأهالي الذين كانوا قد لقوا صنوف العذاب والتنكيل في داخلها. لكننا لم نسمع عن أحد يطالب بإلغاء جهاز الشرطة بشكل عام أو استبداله أو إدارته بشكل مباشر. طالب الثوار بضرورة احترام هذا الجهاز وأفراده لحقوق الإنسان والتزامهم بالقانون وحماية المواطن لا تعذبيه وإذلاله. وحتى حينما قام الثوار بالمطالبة بحل جهاز أمن الدولة، كان ذلك نتيجة لكون الجهاز كله تجسيدا كاملا لنمط مكروه من ممارسة السلطة. إذ لم يبق أحد، من خارج الحزب الحاكم وأعوانه، سواء كان مهتماً بالسياسة أو غير مسيَّس ليست لديه مشكلة حقيقية مع هذا الجهاز.

يبدو أن الثورة المصرية، بعد عامين على بدئها، تُكلف ما لا تحتمل، وتُدفع إلى ما لا تطيق، وتطالَب بأكثر مما تستطيع. وتسببت شدة الأحداث وتسارعها في حالة من التيه عن قيمها وأهدافها، فنسمع نقدين حدّين، يقول الأول ان الثورة لم تغير شيئا، فيجيب الآخر بأن الثورة لم تحكم ولم تتمكن من مراكز السلطة في المجتمع والدولة. ولم يعد احتلال القصر الملكي أو الجمهوري، وقطع رأس الحاكم هو نهاية الحرب الثورية أو غايتها. فالسلطة خفية في مراكز أخرى متعددة، سواء داخل جهاز الدولة أو خارجه. تتسم منظومات السلطة المعاصرة على مستوى عالمي بقدر كبير من السيولة واللامركزية، بينما يبدو الوضع المصري في حالة شديدة التعقيد، حيث تجمع منظومة السلطة فيه في الوقت ذاته بين السيولة والمركزية. وإذا قمنا بتعريف حرب الأماكن على أنها احتلال جهاز الدولة والتحكم به، فيمكن القول بسهولة ان هذا هو كعب أخيل الثورة المصرية، حيث أثبتت طبيعتها الرخوة ومجموع القيم الكامنة فيها فشلاً كبيراً في هذه المعركة حتى الآن. إن توسيع «حرب الأماكن» ليشمل مواقع وشبكات الإنتاج، والتوزيع، وأنماط الاستهلاك، والمجال العام بشقيه السياسي والاجتماعي من ناحية، والجغرافي من ناحية أخرى، يحمل على استخلاص أن هناك حرباً طاحنة ليس بين الثورة والثورة المضادة فحسب، بل داخل معسكر الثورة المضادة ذاته، حيث يعاد توزيع الأدوار والسلطة من جديد. وهو ما يبدو جلياً في الحرب بين جماعة الإخوان المسلمين وبعض  أجهزة الدولة التي تتحكم فيها قيادات النظام السابق.

[عن ملحق "السفير العربي".] 

Alexandria Re-Imagined: The Revolution through Art

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On 24 January 2011 – a day before the arc of Egyptian history would be altered – the film, Microphone, was screened. Microphone documents Alexandria’s pre-revolution underground scene of artists and musicians fighting a passive oppression that suffocates their ability to nurture their creativity. Khaled (played by Khaled Abol Naga), who has returned to Egypt from the US, wishes to aid the youth by providing them with a venue and funding for nurturing their talents. In one scene, Khaled is conversing with an official at the state’s cultural office to request support for his project. The dialogue proceeds as follows:

Official: What is this graffiti? Is our role to pollute the walls or to clean them?

Khaled: “Graffiti is an art, the whole world acknowledges it. We have to encourage the youth in their pursuits”

Official: “Is this not transgression against people and properties, and visual pollution?

Khaled: “What about the campaign posters littered around the country’s walls, isn’t that visual pollution as well?”

Official: “No, that is something and this is something else. Election campaigning is part of our democratic process”

To the dumbfound look of Khaled who - frustrated enough by red tape  - now is expected to digest a bureaucrat’s talk of “democracy” in Hosni Mubarak's Egypt 

Prior to the revolution, Alexandria’s walls were largely Soviet-esq like barren. Artists who did attempt to paint the walls, like Aya Tarek (features in the film) and Amr Ali (not the author of this piece), were often stopped by the police or reported by onlookers suspicious of their novel activity. Fatma Hendawy, a curator who started on the street scene before the revolution, notes that one way to circumvent these obstacles was to go through the Goethe Institute to use its diplomatic muscle to define joint German-Egyptian art projects. Yet as Fatma laments, such institutes inadvertently stump your creativity in order to cater to their bilateral agendas.

In the months following the 2011 Revolution, I took to cataloguing the artwork that blossomed and inspired me to believe that the public space was gradually being reclaimed by society. I am no artist, however. I take the position of the “public” and write on the art in the context of the socio-political dynamics and nuances that influence societal perceptions of street art. Specifically, this essay attempts to tell the story of the past two years purely through artwork from the streets of Alexandria. For Cairo, I highly recommend the large collection of Suzee Morayef who, on her blog, offers great analyses on street art that is prolific through the capital’s streets. Also Mona Abaza, professor of sociology at the American University in Cairo, has penned brilliant pieces on the artistic narration of the revolution.

Triumph Over the Pharaoh (Early 2011)

The stepping down of President Hosni Mubarak gave way to a social euphoria that seeped into the street art that was governed by the mindset “The power of people is stronger than the people in power.”

             
                   [From the Roushdy neighborhood of Alexandria: “25 January: the birthday of the Egyptian People.”
                                                         Shoes being thrown at Mubarak. Photo by Amro Ali]

                        
                                         [Roushdy: Revolutionary motifs. “Egyptian and proud.” Photo by Amro Ali]

              
               [A tank bearing “Freedom.” Such pro-military slogans are something the revolutionary camp would live to
                      regret. But pro-military feelings were so strong during the first half of 2011 with an often rebuttal:
                “The army is us, they would never betray us.” Later distinctions were made between army and the military
                                                                              council. Photo by Amro Ali]

              
               [“Youth’s Revolution”: The youth felt they had ownership over this revolution, and everything was made to
                                                                      classify it as such. Photo by Amro Ali]

              
                [From Alexandria’s Stanley neighborhood: “The People,” the eternal cry of the revolutionary voice that
                   would follow it up with “Demand the fall of [insert your current oppressor here].” Photo by Amro Ali]

             
              [From Stanley: “The Martyr screams, where are my rights oh country.” The man’s image is inspired by a
                                          2006 torture video of a bus driver, Imad El-Kabir. Photo by Amro Ali]

              
                [From Alexandria’s neighborhood of Smouha: Late Egyptian President Gamal Abdel Nasser’s famous
               line: “Lift your head oh brother.” It is unusual that Nasser is painted over the very monarchical flag he did
                 away with. However, it also reflects Alexandria’s relation to both. The city’s middle and upper-middle
                classes have had, anecdotally, a strong fondness for the pre-1952 Egypt more than any other Egyptian
                   population center. However, Nasser was born in the Alexandrian outskirt of Bacus, and his economic
                          policies gave him a strong loyal following in working class districts. Photo from Alexandria
                                                                             Graffiti Facebook page]

             
                    [From Alexandria’s neighborhood of Mahtet el-Raml: Drawn on the walls surrounding the Italian
                 consulate, painting shows an exchange between an Egyptian and a foreigner. “Egyptian: How’s your
                      salary overseas? Foreigner: We get $3000/month + $500 “instead of” [“badal” or allowance for]
              meals + $1000 instead of health insurance. I make a total of $4500/month. Egyptian: After the revolution
           I make 700 Egyptian pounds. Foreigner: And these are “instead of” what?? Egyptian: These are instead of me
                                               becoming a bum!” Photo and translation by Tariq Fahmy]

The Dawn of A New Era (Early- to Mid-2011)

Once upon a time in Alexandria’s Stanely area stood a beautiful mural facing the sea dedicated to the key figures of the revolution. It was painted by students from the College of Fine Arts, and to me it magnificently captured the hopes and aspirations of Egypt’s youth. The faces of the martyrs told a story that they did not die in vain. I often felt this art was too good to be true, and that it faced two primary enemies. The first is human censorship, and the second being nature’s censorship, namely the salt from the sea that tends to erode the paint. The former came quickly enough. Fatma tells me that all of a sudden in early 2012, the owners of the place on which this mural was painted did not like it anymore. But she points to something deeper than that. Their decision came a few months after the posting of a new chief of security directorate for Alexandria. This is when the security forces started to regain their composure after being knocked off balance during the 2011 eighteen-day uprising. Fatma says “He [the new chief] wanted to control the streets again, and painting over it was to send a strong message to the artists and intellectuals ‘Don’t dream too high.’”

            
                  [From Alexandria’s neighborhood of Stanley: Khaled Saeed, Egypt’s “chief martyr” and the spark of
                  revolution, as part of a mural with other key figures. Photo from Alexandria Graffiti Facebook page]

             
                                                               [Revolutionary martyrs. Photo by Amro Ali]

              
                [From Alexandria’s neighborhood of Stanley: Revolutionary martyr, Ahmed Bassiouni. Photo by Amro Ali]

              
                     [From Roushdy: “Free for Ever.” The word freedom (in Arabic or English) was the most commonly
                                                                  used word on walls. Photo by Amro Ali]

             
                       [From Stanley: “Egypt is the mother of the World” a reassertion of national pride after years of
                                                    Mubarak’s lackluster performance. Photo by Amro Ali]

The Alexandrinization of Public Space

Alexandrian artists are heavily influenced by the legacy of the city’s two brothers Adham and Seif Wanely. whose paintings of “daily life in Alexandria, the sea, the fishermen's boats, and the beauty of streets and squares” helped to nurture an Alexandrian identity. More so, the prominent artist Mahmoud Said (1897-1921), who heralded from an aristocratic Alexandrian family, was at the forefront of painting different layers of Alexandrian society. The post-revolution’s art scene saw various Alexandrian motifs painted by the experienced and less so.

              
                  [From Stanley: A Roman soldier, symbolizing the city’s Greco-Roman heritage, is painted between
                                            “Freedom” and “25 Jan,” and above “Alexandria.” Photo by Amro Ali]

             
              [From East Alexandria: An unfinished painting of a ship bearing the Egyptian colors. Ships and sea are
             some of the most common paintings seen around Alexandria, given their primary historical and cultural
                                     association with the city. Photo from Alexandria Graffiti Facebook page]

              
                        [From Alexandria’s neighborhood of Ibrahmeya: A boat is painted on a tunnel entrance for
                    pedestrians. The boat also directly faces the sea. Photo from Alexandria Graffiti Facebook page]

             
                 [From Stanley: Citadel of Qaitbay stands between a Church and a Mosque. The city (as much as
               the rest of the country) was traumatized following the bombing of the Church of the Saints in Sidi Bishr
                      at the start of 2011. Muslim-Christian unity themes became a common sight around the city.
                                                                                Photo by Amro Ali]

              
                 [Kamp Shezar: The close proximity to sea (ten meters away) and Citadel of Qaitbay painted in the
                    background give the impression of an Egyptian mermaid protruding her head out of the bay.
                                                                                  Photo by Amro Ali]

             
                    [Alexandria’s neighborhood of Cleopatra Hamamat: In his home district, there is no shortage of
                  Khaled Saeed images. This one paints a more respectable citizen. Photo from Alexandria Graffiti
                                                                                    Facebook page
]

 “De-Friending” the Status Quo: Internalizing Social Media

Social media formed a crucial component of youth identity that it was elevated, if not deified, to synchronize with the youth revolution discourse.

              
                                   [From Stanley: Inspired by a man unfurling a paper of social media icons
                                                               during the revolution. Photo by Amro Ali]

              
                 [From Roushdy: Google featuring Alexandrian Sayed Darwish, the father of Egyptian popular music
                                                                                  Photo by Amro Ali]

             
                                                          [From Roushdy: Facebook icon. Photo Amro Ali]

Seeking A De-SCAFinated Egypt: The Army and People Are No Longer One Hand (October 2011 – June 2012)

The October 2011 Maspero massacre hastened the demise of the people-military love affair. More so, the Mohamed Mahmoud clashes in November 2011 represented the heightened anti-military council protests.

             
              [“The thugs are the army.” Inspired by Carlos Lattuf cartoon. Photo from Alexandria Graffiti Facebook page]

Imagination Continues

As it stands, Alexandria’s public walls are covered more in soccer Ultras amateurish graffiti and sporadic anti-Muslim Brotherhood artwork. If one compared the street art scene in Cairo and Alexandria in 2011, the number of creative works, I argue, tilted in favor of the latter. Yet 2012 tilted in favor of the capital due to the key battlegrounds of Tahrir, Maspero, Abasiyya, Itihadiyya, and others, which have drawn artists to the capital to “wage war” with their paintbrushes. While in Tahrir, I asked a friend of mine, Alaa Awaad, a native of Mansoura (and makes regular journeys to Cairo from Luxor where he teaches): “Does it not bother you that you paint during the day, then someone comes at night and desecrates your work?” His response was profound: “Let them do it. This only means I will come back and paint again. This revolution is ongoing.”

              
                [From Stanley and Cleopatra Hamamat: I often find Khaled Said’s iconic face to be a barometer of the
              public mood. The above are different locations and different styles of painting of course. But the first (left)
                  one gives a progressive outlook to hope for a better future, the second (right) restores the struggling,
                                                                  revolutionary Khaled. Photos by Amro Ali]

              
                [From East Alexandria: In this photo I snapped in early 2011 a passerby gives money to a beggar under
                the sign of freedom. It is telling in that there is an Egypt that seeks freedom from repression, and another
                                                           seeks freedom from poverty. Photo by Amro Ali]

Fatma nicely captures the soul of the city’s artistic endeavors: “My dream is to deliver art to the people of Alexandria, not the elites. We need to break the myth that art is for high society. I feel I have achieved a bit of that dream. In the early days, the public would stop us in the street, very simple people, even street kids, asked if they could help. They saw beautiful colors for the first time and wanted to be part of it.”

As we enter the second anniversary of the revolution, Egypt needs to find a way to tell the art scene, “It is ok to dream too high."

Playing the Numbers Game: Copts and the Exercise of Power

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With 25 January upon us yet again, the “Coptic question” remains as salient as ever. This hermeneutic expression, similar to Shlomo Sand’s historicization of what was the “Jewish question,” in the context of contemporary Egyptian nationalism, is important to interrogate. This is in light of continued state-focused analysis post 25 January 2011, which seems to have been reified over the past two years. From electoral results and state dynamics to constitutional drafting and ratification, the Copts find themselves in a precarious position vis-à-vis the state and a new political reality. Perhaps more so now than the past few decades they are increasingly on the fringes of formalized political expression and participation. Most attempts to inject a critique of the status quo are met with the demographic argument—if there were more Copts then the realities would reflect their political will. The overwhelming obsession with both state and nationalism often yield a discourse of identity that places Copts within a narrow confine. In parallel, continued fascination with the symbolism of intertwined crosses and crescents on protest signs, priests and sheikhs arm-in-arm in marches serve to create superficial imagery foregrounded by an extended lacuna.

As the offensive film, The Innocence of Muslims, made news worldwide in the fall of 2012, and with one of its producers being a United States-based Copt, the discourse of sectarianism reached a momentary crescendo and rendered Copts pariahs to be controlled and necessitating the exercise of “power” over them. While all of Egypt’s Churches and their congregations denounced the movie and moved to a reactionary defensive mode, Copts continue to be lumped together and seen as a monolith, both in the diaspora and in Egypt, feeding tension, collective indictment, and in some cases sedition. Calls to disentangle diasporic Coptic communities and local ones continued to fall on deaf ears as the objectification of Copts reduced them to identitarian categories, subjected them to a discourse that sought to divide only along the lines of geography and homogenizes based on affiliation—the diaspora continues to be lumped together discursively with the institutions of the Church, and competitively with the state and Islamist politics. Few have gone beyond this to question how representative a single American Copt is of the diaspora and Copts at large. This divisive practice reached a crescendo fueled by a discourse of sectarianism. Coptic 38 [1], a group that joined protests at the US Embassy, attests to the knee-jerk reaction and attack on the diaspora (collectively) made by Islamists due to the offensive movie. One of the mechanisms this divisive practice operates is by the quantification of Copts in Egypt; the insistence of linking the human rights agenda in Egypt to numerical representation. This dynamic is consistent with the view of feminists who seek to offset “gender imbalance” and achieve parity.

After Egyptian media reported the head of the Central Agency for Public Mobilization and Statistics’ (CAPMAS) statement that Copts were five million and 130 thousand (roughly 6.3 percent of the country’s population), he went out and later clarified that this was not an exact figure and that CAPMAS had refrained from doing censuses of Copts. The initial estimate was roughly 11.6 percent of the Egyptian population. This estimate was quoted by Mohammed Hassanein Heikal's Autumn of Fury almost thirty years ago. The controversy over numbers was rekindled in 2007 when Abul Ela Mady, founder of the then-outlawed moderate Islamist Al-Wasat party, argued that Copts do not exceed six percent, not only adhering to the government number from the 1976 census, but also arguing that they are precisely 4.2 million. The peculiarity continues with Ibn Khaldun Center's 1996 estimate that Copts are five million (making them seven percent in 1996). Not only would that suggest that Copts are leaving Egypt, but it would also draw the picture of a massive exodus that has a -1 percent of population growth between 1996 and 2007; a claim that is not supported qualitatively and one that we should lay to rest. One of the claims of Abul Ela Mady's "study" asserted that the British censuses grouped British Christians together with Egyptian Christians. This was widely contested and as such led to a backlash that precipitated Amin Iskandar of the Karama party’s reaction in his published column "I cannot hide my anger".[2]

When contextualized, this is in part a continuation of a larger controversy since the 1976 government census that claimed Copts are 6.31 percent. In response to his pronouncement, Bishop Marcos, spokesman for the Coptic Church, announced that the number of Copts ranges between ten to twelve million, about fifteen percent of the Egyptian population (Nahdat Misr, 12–13 July 2007) and for Copts to be six percent it would mean they had been leaving Egypt since the beginning of the twentieth century, a claim backed up by consecutive British censuses starting in 1907; ones that the likes of Abul Ela Mady refute.

Fundamentally, the Egyptian government has long avoided making any public announcements regarding the percentage of Copts since then; the 1976 census came after late President Anwar Sadat was infuriated with Shenouda's response to ongoing sectarian incidents that saw many Copts die. It was a veiled threat to the Coptic community about their insignificance as a national constituency; this claim can only be made by referencing Copts’ numbers. The need to quantify the number of non-Muslims, specifically Christians, has been practiced in order to be able to tie their rights to their numbers. The biggest examples are the number of seats Christians received in the Constituent Assembly (Two for the Orthodox Church and one for the Catholic Church and one for Protestant Church) and the stipulation in the draft bill that would associate the construction of Churches with the number of native Christians residing in that area.

The continued fascination with the quantification of Copts has been heightened once more by many unsubstantiated claims citing the number of Copts leaving Egypt. One estimate cites 100,000 Copts have left Egypt since early 2012 but offers no evidence to back this claim. The controversy was so large that Dennis Ross of the Washington Institute for Near East studies, in an attempt to criticize Mohamed Morsi in the Washington Post, also cited the number which compelled the Catholic and Protestant Churches in Egypt to contest Ross’ statement and claim it is exaggerated. The discourse on Copts is effectively reduced to a numbers game in an attempt to outmaneuver the Islamists and critique them. Yet this discussion must be engaged within the context of the rules and formations of the discourse by backing such claims with verifiable statistics.

To understand why there is such a fascination with statistics on Christians in Egypt, one needs to take a look at the history of the debate and explore the avenues by which it empowered the different parties in their claims. There are often details that are purposefully hidden which serve as a backdrop to these different statistical claims. Only by exploring these incidents can we understand how different estimates are put in place to pigeonhole Copts and others to accentuate their plight and fuel sectarianism. Just as the government has its disputed statistics so too are there others who obsessively measure Coptic immigrants where no mechanisms of quantification exist. For a majority of reactionary politicians, it becomes an issue that can readily be mobilized on and a way to perpetuate an identity war at the expense of more pressing national issues such as police reform, judicial reform, a law allowing non-Muslims to build places of worship, socio-economic grievances, and the resilience of the state’s authoritarian structures. In fact, overstating “the Coptic issue” hides the plight of Baha’is and other woefully underrepresented groups. In order to discuss human rights violations in Egypt, one needs to be inside a special group sanctioned by the discourse propagated by the government and its religious institutions. Thus the international arena and issue of the Coptic diaspora has become a harbinger in contemporary Egyptian politics.

Coptic Immigrants

There is still a gaping hole in the social scientific study of Coptic migration and most experts such as Ghada Botros admit that there are no available statistics on Copts in the diaspora. It is only in Toronto that an estimate exists where the Coptic Christian Egyptian community is at 200,000 following a lengthy and detailed comparative study by Botros [3]. She points out that because being Coptic is not an ethnicity, it is impossible to quantify incoming Coptic immigrants from Egyptians. There continues to be a debate among the diaspora as to whether to petition Western governments to classify being Coptic as its own ethnicity; most however reject that proposal and tend to prefer their Egyptian identity. It is interesting to note that the issue has been debated while explicitly stating that it is for the sole purpose of raising awareness for the Coptic cause. This issue is unfolding on the discussion boards of some Coptic Churches in the United States and elsewhere. The decision not to pursue classifying Coptic ethnicity as its own category, while may give rise to speculation and fuel the debate, is laudable for several reasons. The most important is that Copts do not follow the steps of government-influenced research that pushes for ethnic identity based on religion. The biggest example is social science research in Canada where Judaism qualifies on a census as both a religion and an ethnicity. Though Canada seems to have an ongoing debate on what constitutes an ethnicity and its relatively arbitrary definition, they serve as a good example to show the dangers of religious identity solely [4]. This attitude would arguably increase tension and lead to furthering sectarian strife.

Back to Egypt: The 1976 Census

The Al Khanka incident is a vivid reminder of how the politics of numbers can fuel a discourse that limits and dominates Copts. In 1972, Muslims clashed with Copts over the use of a private home as a chapel in Al Khanka, rural village outside Cairo. As a result, the Chapel was torched by Muslims. In response, Pope Shenouda III sent one hundred bishops and priests to have a vigil at the sight; infuriating Sadat. Muslims then rallied after the incitement by the state and a riot took place under the watchful eye of security forces who did not interfere. This is what some people mistakenly say was the first time that Copts fought back. The confrontation continued and matters escalated even more so to new amendments to Islamize Egypt’s constitution. This was an effective way for Sadat to quell the population and begin building support via an Islamic base. The Al Khanka incident among others would be used as evidence to support the claim that Copts were preparing for a state in Upper Egypt. Following the rhetoric of "numbers don't lie," the Egyptian government snubbed the late Pope Shenouda with its 6.1 percent estimate after the Al Khanka incident. The Church produced a long volume about previous censuses and how population growth rates denied this.

Unfortunately, however, this perpetuated the binary of refuting each estimate with a countervailing figure. The hidden part of this statistical debate is the continued denial of rights for all; instead, it was through congregations and large families that collective demands were made. By taking part in the statistical debate, some Copts acquiesced and tied their rights to their size and wealth. After census data about Copts were gathered, some proceeded to measure their land holdings and wealth. Islamists then readily used this information to talk about imperial designs to divide Egypt and automatically dismissed these writings as a British source that alters Egyptian identity and creates an imbalance in society. Examples include Abul Ela Mady’s “study” that continues to be referenced by Fahmy Houidy, Rafiq Habib, and Tariq Al Bishri whose books on the Coptic issue are prime examples a perpetuation of this binary. The discourse rarely leaves this group of “moderate” Islamists. The fact is that Fahmy Houidy [5] defended Sheikh Ghazali who was summoned to Farag Fouda’s assassin’s trial to testify and ended up defending him saying he had killed an apostate. The quantification of the Coptic issue had rendered the cause dialectical and confined it within a rhetoric of political correctness consistent with a pre-determined agenda—one that is increasingly domineering.

While historically Copts have been organized around this Ottoman Millet system (which made registering births, deaths, and communicating demands to the ruler the job of the community head), unfortunately the Egyptian government and the Coptic Church had continued this dynamic since Gamal Abdel Nasser. Take, for example, Pope Cyril VI’s demand for building Churches:

[I]t was understandably humiliating for the Patriarch to find that any applications for building permits he made got lost in the labyrinth of the Ministry of Interior. So he approaches Nasser on the subject. Nasser was sympathetic, and asked how many new churches the Patriarch thought he needed. The answer was between twenty and thirty a year. Right, said Nasser, and immediately gave him permission to build twenty-five new churches a year (Heikal, 1983: 153)

Far from celebrating this achievement, the Pope had to secure continued concessions to build Churches if the regime did not object to any of his policies. This is how the Coptic Church was kept in check. The Church is thus continually cornered by its propagation of a narrative that is statistical instead of a strategy calling for the rule of law or equality. This has become the dominant, and only, method, of accruing concessions from an intransigent state. With the absence of a strong human rights agenda, the only language that the government understood was that of numbers. That is why it dominated debates both inside the institutions of the state and the public sphere. Even old letters from the early twentieth century, such as Hardinge and Rosebarry's correspondences [6], always focused on the number of Coptic schools, Coptic families, and their land.

This undoubtedly is the product of the Millet system. It is not uncommon for Coptic groups and for the Church to use wealthy congregation members as its interlocutors and lobbyists. This often amplified sectarianism to a large extent and politicized basic questions related to freedom of belief. The binary is therefore recreated with each side using its own statistics. On the one hand, the government claims Copts are a small minority and on the other hand Copts refute this and claim they have a wider material base and that their numbers are greater. This is a knee-jerk reaction to offset what Copts perceive as a lost battle due to their small numbers. The question should not be who benefits by increasing or lowering the estimate of Copts in Egypt, rather it should be to what means does this keep those in power secure? The fact that neither the Church nor the government have laid this question to rest shows a continued desire to propagate the discourse of sectarianism. The “statification” of the Coptic question institutionalizes power dynamics that disfavor and discipline Copts. This narrative is constructed as Copts as vying for an alternative identity” that is due to their strong alleged material base [7].

More often than not, Copts are mistakenly accused of wanting a Coptic state. Egyptian identity is an idea that is undefined but those who construct it in a certain way do so to omit Copts' nationalistic role and construct it to exclude them in society. That is why Copts in the diaspora are not only treated monolithically but are also demonized by state and Church. Instead, those who construct Egyptian identity in an exclusionary manner do so to disregard Egypt's past and instead view Copts as part of a British “divide and rule” strategy. Thus the binary and improvisation of statistics in studying Copts often says more about the power struggles than the "truth." Instead, it constructs a reality that accentuates some facts while hiding others. The numbers game in the Coptic issue thus becomes good currency for those attacking imperialism and Egypt's monarchic era and for those accruing concessions for the Coptic community while hiding the need for equality—Copts instead settle for equity not equality under the Millet system, a system the British inherited from the Ottomans.

British Numbers and their Impact

Citing several Egyptian sources, Samir Seikaly looked at the status of Copts in the early twentieth century:
"These opinions could be dismissed as being subjective and possibly biased. Facts, however, substantiate them...It was in this golden age that what was a dwindling minority in the mid-eighteenth century swelled into an entrenched one of about a million in 1914.This expanding number were given opportunities for education. In 1892 al-Tawfiq [a Coptic civil society organization], in its report on Coptic schools, regretted that there were no more than half a dozen Coptic schools, providing for the education of no more than 961 Coptic students. Indeed it recorded that there were no more than 1,674 Coptic students in all the schools in Egypt. By 1907 there were, we are told, 46 Coptic schools which, together with government and other denominational schools, catered for 21,675 Coptic students, among them 5,681 girls. In 1910 the number of Coptic students had risen further to 28,962, other, that is, than 243 students in colleges for further education. Simultaneously, a relatively large number of Coptic students were receiving some kind of technical and industrial training in two schools established by the Patriarchate and the Tawfiq society."

Seikaly therefore refutes claims of British preference for Copts or of their material cooperation with the British but he does show how there exists little post-modern historical accounts. Instead, statistics on Copts continued to bounce from each pedagogue to another—with Copts viewed either suspiciously as Compradors or as the leading prosperous community. Seikaly cites several sources including the 1907 Al-Hilal figure putting Copts at seven percent but remarks: "[T]hese figures must be treated with extreme care, but they indicate a healthy appetite for economic activity. One of the few Coptic historians explained this excessive concern with things material." One should, therefore, be able to conclude that far from those who took Lord Cromer, Kitchener, and Hardinges' letters seriously and complemented Copts, there were others who disputed these accounts. Copts were not a group that received preferential treatment nor were they superior.

Rather, the historiography of that time period on Copts is symptomatic of a larger theme in the early twentieth century—an excessive fascination with all things material and landholdings. Through that, Britain tightened its grasp over Egypt, and along the way sought to catalogue all things to do with Egypt. In its effort to bring Egypt’s resources and society under control, Coptic history suffered too. It is therefore ironic that some of the vocal critics of the British, such as Abul Ela Mady and Tariq al Bishri [8], continue to question what the British did in an attempt to control a group in society by quantifying them. While British sources on Egypt are not the best, it does not automatically follow that they did so with the agenda of empowering Copts and amplifying their numbers. Those writing on the matter would be well advised to move past this impasse and understand how statistics were a tool in the hands of the colonizer whose “method” at times meant differentiating Christian names from Muslim ones in a registry. This was how the British undertook their project of controlling Egypt. Asking which statistic is "correct" is the wrong question; instead that number should be disregarded entirely along with the connotations and power claims it furthers. At this juncture in the revolution’s life, Coptic history, and to a larger extent Egyptian history, must be reinterpreted without predisposed ideas about the Egyptian state and its identity. It must not be charted by the polarized dichotomy of nationalism and colonialism.

________________________

Footnotes

1 A Coptic pressure group that scrutinizes issues to do with Copts in Egypt. Their biggest cause is bringing back the 1938 personal status law that allowed Copts the right to divorce

2 For an electronic copy of Amin Iskandar’s article see this archived piece.

3 Joanne van Dijk, and Ghada Botros. 2009. The importance of ethnicity and religion in the life cycle of immigrant churches: A comparison of Coptic and Calvinist churches. Canadian Ethnic Studies 41 (1): 191-214. Botros, Ghada, 2006. Religious identity as an historical narrative: Coptic orthodox immigrant churches and the representation of history. Journal of Historical Sociology 19 (2): 174-201.

4 Joanne van Dijk, and Ghada Botros. 2009 pp-193

5 Hassan, Sana. 2003. Christians versus Muslim in modern Egypt: The century-long struggle for Coptic equality. New York: Oxford University Press

6 A series of exchanges and diaries of British figures who were alive during the late 19th and early 20th centuries. See Carter, R.B.L. 1986. The Copts in Egyptian Politics. Dover, NH: Croom Helm.

7 Some sources detail British land data that shows how the Coptic Waqf organization and the Al-Tawfiq society had a significant amount of land compared to total land holdings. See Carter 1986

8 Tariq-Al Bishri’s “Muslims and Copts the nationalistic group” (al –Muslimun wa-al-Aqbat fi itar al-jam’ah al-wataniyah (Cairo, 1977) is an example of where he views the issue with a purely nationalistic lens.

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ارتبط قرار السلفيين بالدخول للمعترك السياسي بعد الثورة بقضية الهوية الإسلامية للمجتمع. ومع إقرار الدستور الذي ضمن بشكل كبير للسلفيين تطبيق الشريعة يبرز السؤال التالي: وماذا بعد الشريعة؟ هل انتهى المبرر لوجود السلفيين في الحياة السياسية وانتهت القضية التي تمكنوا من خلالها من حشد الملايين للتصويت لهم في الانتخابات ؟ هل سيتم تكرار النموذج الباكستاني للأحزاب الإسلامية ؟

نحتاج أن نعرف ما هو الوضع الباكستاني أولاً للقيام بالمقارنة بينه وبين مصر. على عكس مصر التي تعد بلداً عريقاً تأسس على الأسس الطبيعية لقيام أي دولة، لم يكن هناك ما يسمى بدولة باكستان حتى سنة 1947، حين انشطرت عن الهند الكبرى لتكون وطنًا قوميًّا للمسلمين الذين تعرضوا لاضطهاد بشع من الهندوس. فباكستان قامت على أساس الدين، والدين هو المرجعية القومية ويلعب الدور الأهم والأبرز في تشكيل الهوية الوطنية للباكستانيين، والدستور الباكستاني يزخر بعشرات النصوص المستقاة من الشريعة الإسلامية، بل يعبر في كثير من مواده بلفظة "المسلمين" محل المواطنين. ولا يتسع المجال لذكر بعض الأدلة على ذلك، وهذا الأمر جعل من عمل التيار السياسي الإسلامي في باكستان مسألة صعبة، حيث أنه غير قادر على تقديم نفسه كممثل ومدافع عن الشريعة الإسلامية مثلما يفعل نظيره المصري؛ لأن معظم الشعب الباكستاني متدين، ونصوص الدستور تكفل هذا التطبيق ولو نظريّاً.

كما أن تيار الإسلام السياسي الباكستاني يعاني من الضعف والتشتت، ولا يتمتع بنفس شعبية نظيره المصري، ولا يصل إلى المجالس المحلية والبرلمانية إلا وفق إرادة سياسية مقصودة من العسكر أو القوى العلمانية التي تسيطر على مؤسسات الحكم، كما حدث في ولاية برويز مشرف الذي اتفق مع العسكر على إفساح الطريق أمام جبهة العمل الإسلامي الموحد المكونة من ستة أحزاب إسلامية لدخول البرلمان سنة 2002. وذلك لأهداف معينة تخدم نفوذ الجيش في الحكم، منها مقاومة نفوذ وشعبية الحركات الإسلامية المجاهدة مثل طالبان باكستان وعسكر طيبة وجيش محمد ونفاذ الشريعة. وهي الحركات التي سببت إحراجًا لباكستان أمام الولايات المتحدة، ومنها تحجيم الأحزاب العلمانية المناوئة لمشرف مثل حزب الرابطة الإسلامية وحزب الشعب، ومنها استيعاب المشاعر المعادية للأمريكان بعد احتلال أفغانستان سنة 2001. ولكن ما لبث أن انهار هذا التحالف برحيل مشرف، وعادت العلاقة بين الجيش والعلمانيين في الحكم مع بقاء النفوذ الحقيقي في يد العسكر، وتنحية الإسلاميين من المشهد السياسي.

إذن غياب الاستقطاب أدى لتلاشي دور الأحزاب ذات المرجعية الدينية والسؤال هو: هل هذا الوضع مرشح للتكرار في مصر؟ مبدئياً ينقسم السلفيون إلى مستويات بناءاً على الحجم والانتشار والتنظيم من حيث درجة تعقيده أو بساطته ومرحلة الإدارة التي فيها إلى 3 أنواع : 

إدارة الوجود: تدير نفسك لتحافظ على بقائك وهي المرحلة التي تقبع فيها معظم الكيانات الصغيرة.
إدارة القوة: اكتساب المزيد من القوة وتثبيتها والحفاظ عليها وهي المرحلة التي بدأت فيها كيانات منظمة كالدعوة السلفية بالإسكندرية عن طريق تقنين وضعها واستكمال مؤسساتها كحزب النور ذراعها السياسي وبيت الأعمال ذراعها الاقتصادي بالإضافة لنشاط كبير على المستوى الاجتماعي بطول البلاد وعرضها بل تعدى لحملات إغاثة بإفريقبا وسوريا مما جعلها رقماً صعباً بالفعل في المعادلة.
إدارة الهدف: كيف تستغل وجودك وقوتك في تحقيق هدفك وهي مرحلة لم يصل أحد من الأحزاب الإسلامية بعد. قد يكون هذا الكلام عن تكرار تجربة الباكستانيين مقبولاً عند الحديث عن الكيانات السلفية الصغيرة أما الكيانات الكبيرة لها مسؤوليات وتطلعات كبيرة بخلاف الكيانات الصغيرة التي تخوض في الأصل صراع وجود يرتبط غالباً بقيم عليا يزايد بها على الكيان الكبير (مالم توافقه في جمعة الشريعة أو تأييد مرشح ما فأنت لا تحب نصرة دين الله.) وحتى هذا الوضع –تلاشي الأحزاب الصغيرة – ربما يكون مؤجلاً لبعض الوقت لأن المعركة الأساسية التي حدث بسببها الاستقطاب لم تنته بعد، فالمنتج النهائي للدستور لم يحظ بالرضا الكامل لدى قطاع لا بأس به من الإسلاميين لا سيما اليمينين منهم إن جاز التعبير. (خريطة الأحزاب الإسلامية: الإخوان في المنتصف، وإلى يمين الخارطة حزب النور حيث يزداد التشبث بالمرجعية الإسلامية ومعه أحزاب الوطن، الأصالة، البناء والتنمية، على الخط الرأسي لحزب النور، يصطف حزب أبو إسماعيل الجديد، لكن إلى الأعلى قليلا ناحية الاتجاه الثوري وعلى يسار الإخوان، يقف حزب الوسط، ثم مصر القوية) وبالتالي ستظل هناك معركة جديدة عند كل مشروع قانون يقدم في إطار الحديث عن تقنين الشريعة ومحاربة الاتجاهات العلمانية الرافضة لهذه القوانين. أما بالنسبة للكيانات الكبيرة ربما تعاني الدعوة السلفية على المدى القصير من توابع الانفصال الذي حدث في حزب النور حتى تعيد ترتيب أوراقها. التهديد هنا ليس من حزب الوطن المنشق عنه فهو قد حكم على نفسه بأن يكون نسخة سلفية من حزب الوسط، أي حزباً نخبوياً بلا قواعد شعبية مؤثرة ولا يفيده كثيراً على المدى الطويل تحالفه مع حزب أبو اسماعيل الجديد لتباين الرؤى والمواقف خصوصاً وأن الناخب السلفي يستنفر بقضايا أيدلوجية ولن تعجبه الموائمات للحزب الجديد مثل دعوته للأقباط للترشح على قوائمه مما يخصم كثيراً من رصيده قبل بدء المعركة.

التهديد من جراء محاولات الصراع مع كيانات إسلامية أخرى –الحديث يتردد عن دعم الأخوان لمثل هذه المحاولات ببناء مرجعيات سلفية أخرى لسحب البساط من تحت أقدام الدعوة السلفية وهذه الكيانات يتم احتواؤها مثل الهيئة الشرعية للحقوق والإصلاح لأن الدعوة السلفية ما زالت هي أبرز منافسي الأخوان سواء لحجم التواجد في الشارع أو مخاطبتها نفس القطاع من الناخبين المستهدفين من قبل الإخوان. بالنسبة للكيانات الأخرى فحزب الشيخ حازم إن كان بتحالفه مع الوطن قد يسعى لحل مشكلة حزب الرجل الواحد، أي بلا قيادات أخرى عن طريق استقطاب كوادر النور المستقيلة إلى حظيرته، إلا أن هذا قد يفاقم وضعاً هو أصلاً مشكلة حالية خطيرة تنذر بتفكك الحزب وهي عدم التجانس الفكرى لأتباع الشيخ حازم حيث أنهم أوزاع شتى يجمعهم فقط التأثر بكاريزما رئيس الحزب. ويفتقد الحزب للجماعة الأم التي تفصل في المنازعات عند الحديث عن قوائم المرشحين وباقي المناصب العليا في الحزب. 

المشكلة الأخرى أن دخول"حازمون" في اللعبة السياسية بقواعدها المعروفة يضطرها لاتخاذ مواقف تفقدها كثيرا من أسباب شعبيتها وسط الأوساط المتحمسة وما يصلح للزخم الثوري ربما لا يصلح لعمل إداري رتيب كحزب. التحدي أمام السلفيين بجميع أطيافهم إن أرادوا الاستمرار في اللعبة السياسية هو تقديم طرح سياسي متوازن لتطبيق الشريعة عن طريق وضع أحكام تصيغ حياة الناس بما يحقق لهم الأفضل في كل المجالات ولكن بما يتعامل مع الواقع بكل انحرافاته بدلاً من استيراد قوالب جامدة من كتب الفقه (مثال التعامل مع الرئيس على أنه رئيس لا خليفة للمسلمين.) حيث أن أغلب الحركات الإسلامية عندها فجوة بسبب النموذج المثالي وهو نموذج إسلامي لا يستطيع أن يركب في بيئة الواقع مثل من يشتري جهاز ماركة عالمية من الخارج ولا يستطيع تشغيله لأن أن الفيشة ثلاثية لا تركب على مخرج الكهرباء الثنائي الحائطي. 

The Revolution and History

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As a historian, I am often struck by a particular misconception about history, widely held both in Egypt and abroad. This is the sense that, once written, history is fixed or finished – that, once a historian has “covered” Asyut in the 1860s or Alexandria in the 1940s, there is nothing further one can say about those subsections of the wider story of modern Egypt.

In fact, history is written and rewritten by each successive generation of historians. What makes this writing and rewriting possible and, arguably, necessary, is not the discovery of once hidden documents or the refinement of the historian’s analytical frameworks. What makes this writing and rewriting necessary is the changing context in which the historian lives and works. At the end of the day, historians are interpreters of the past. Their role is to help people make sense of the past. And in order to accomplish this, they need to “translate” the past into a language people in the present can understand. They need to use today’s priorities and reference points as tools to liken the past to the present, and thus make the past relevant in the present.

For all these reasons, the January 25 Revolution has made rewriting the history of modern Egypt essential. Under the military dictatorship, the chief milestones of Egyptian history were 23 July 1952 and 6 October 1973 – the overthrow of the monarchy by the Free Officers and the breach of the Bar Lev Line, respectively. These were milestones made by the Egyptian military.

The revolution demands a history oriented not to the victories of the Egyptian military, but to the struggles of the Egyptian people for liberation. A revolution whose bywords were “silmiyya, silmiyya” (“peaceful, peaceful”), demands a history whose focus is not triumph by force of arms, but triumph by force of numbers, argument, and civil disobedience.

In much the way that the revolutions of 1968 inspired American historian Howard Zinn to write his People’s History of the United States– a history less concerned with statesmen than with slaves, soldiers, and suffragettes – the January 25 Revolution must yield a history of modern Egypt that examines the manifold ways in which Egyptians have defied the central authority that has, for centuries, sought to control them.

In a post-revolution Egypt where 1952 and 1973 no longer resonate as milestones, 1919 and 1968 may come to the fore. Indeed, in looking back at photographs of the demonstrations that convulsed Egypt throughout 1919, I am often stunned at the likeness they bear to the marches and sit-ins that have convulsed Egypt these past two years. And while rejection of colonial rule was integral to their movement, the revolutionaries of 1919 were as much concerned with “bread, freedom, and social justice” as the revolutionaries of 2011. Further, in witnessing the courage of the protesters who took to the streets these past two years, Egyptians dare not forget the arguably still greater courage of the students who, in February 1968, demanded an end to the Nasserist dictatorship. However, these are but two possibilities among a multitude of episodes of protest and resistance that may take on a novel resonance in the wake of the January 25 Revolution.

One of the most durable tropes of the January 25 Revolution is that the “barrier of fear” finally fell away that day, permitting the formerly quiescent Egyptians to rise up against the Mubarak regime. In shifting the focus away from the regime and to Egyptians themselves, the new history that I am proposing will reveal that this “barrier of fear,” this purported quiescence was always a myth perpetuated by a narrow elite in Cairo – a myth that sought to deny agency to Egyptians by declaring them unfit to rule themselves.

During the past two years, Egyptians have made history. The myth of the quiescent Egyptian masses has suffered repeated blows, as millions upon millions of Egyptians have flooded into the streets, at great personal risk, to stand up and protest injustice. All I am proposing here is that historians of modern Egypt follow their lead. 

The Dramaturgy of A Street Corner

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Much like the ongoing revolutionary struggle in Egypt, this short piece is part of an in-progress work to chronicle the evolution of revolutionary art on Mohamed Mahmoud Street, also known as the “street of the eyes of freedom”—nicknamed as such since many protesters lost their eyes on that same street after being targeted by professional snipers during protests in 2011. (See previous articles on this subject by clicking here, here, here, here, and here. Also see interview with artist Alaa Awad on the subject by clicking here).

For a second consecutive year, Mohammed Mahmud Street witnessed intensive turmoil, and chronic violent clashes between demonstrators and security forces. Clashes ensued again in November 2012, ironically in the context of demonstrations that were organized to commemorate the previous year’s clashes of 19-24 November 2011 known as the Mohamed Mahdmoud Street battles. The clashes seemed like a farcical reenactment of those of the previous year, much like the Mohamed Morsi presidency and the Muslim Brotherhood, for many revolutionaries, are farcically reenacting the same policies, mindset, and discourse of the Hosni Mubarak regime.

Repertoire here might perhaps be one key concept that can help explain why the regular use of violence by authorities, and the recycling of the old regime’s discourses by the perpetrators of such violence have become dominant elements in the apparent counter-revolution led by the Muslim Brotherhood. Many anticipate that 2013 will be a decisive year for the wielders of power in their (recurrently violent) confrontations with the large segments of the population that are growingly losing faith in the Muslim Brotherhood. The hastily drafted constitution, and the overt threatit poses to basic principles of human rights and citizenship, perhaps underscore the Brotherhood’s desperation and angst over their faltering efforts to assert their control over—or as some call it, to “Brotherhoodize”—the state.

             
                                                       [Photo by Mona Abaza (Captured 2 November 2012)]

            
                                                      [Photo by Mona Abaza (Captured 26 September 2012)]

Anticipation through repertoires is perhaps why many foresee a serious escalation of violence in the country after the “militias” of the Muslim Brotherhood fiercely attacked and tortured protesters opposed to Morsi by the presidential palace on 5 December 2012.

Repertoire once again, might explain too the insistence of revolutionary artists to repaint the same murals time and again, most notably the half-Mubarak-half-Mohamed Hussein Tantawi image discussed below. Based on the same language of the repertoire, one can view this corner (where Mohamed Mahmoud Street meets Tahrir Sqaure) as the site of an unfolding continuous dramaturgical performance that visually narrates the history of the revolution. Of equal importance is the public’s interaction with graffiti and murals [1].

During the second half of 2011 and early 2012, military authorities erected concrete walls to block protesters from entering the streets leading to the Ministry of Interior, which has been (and continues to be) the target of popular anger directed at police brutality and abusive practices.  Many of these walls were later destroyed by protesters. But even when they existed, they were quickly filled by fantastic mutating graffiti and large murals. The incessant erasure of the paintings on the walls of Mohamed Mahmoud Street never stopped revolutionary artists from repainting them, sometimes with abundant displays of insults directed against the internal security, the Supreme Council of the Armed Forces (SCAF), and the symbols of the old regime. This phenomenon has been met with a tremendous amount of interest by photographers and bloggers. As Egyptian authorities kept erasing the art by whitening the walls, artists responded with elaborated and sometimes improved versions of the previous paintings, until they excelled at the art of resisting, challenging, and insulting the counterrevolutionaries among with the wielders of power and their allies. Colloquial Arabic was often prominently displayed on the walls. No one within the centers of power was spared from sardonic jokes and mocking paintings. The internal security apparatus, the SCAF, the associates of the former regime, Muslim Brotherhood leaders, and President Morsi, all got their share of insults and satire.

Street art became one main ways to reinforce and document the battlefields and street wars that occurred during the entire year. Such art offered its audiences one way of “being there” at these important events. In September 2012, Islamists tried their luck in the highly competitive field of street art. This was precisely after a highly controversial video insulting the Prophet Muhammed began circulating on social networking sites, sparking widespread protests throughout the Arab world, particularly in Egypt. In the wake of these protests, pro-Islamist activists attempted to conquer the walls with “Islamic graffiti”. Very quickly sardonic anti-Islamist graffiti spread throughout the area surrounding Tahrir Square.

              
              [Islamic paintings on Mohamed Mahmoud Street walls. Photo by Mona Abaza (Captured 3 October 2012)]

              
           [Islamic paintings on Mohamed Mahmoud Street walls. Photo by Mona Abaza (Captured 28 September 2012)]

The rest of this essay examines a number of snapshots that together form a brief diary of the intersection of Mohamed Mahmoud Street and Tahrir Square.

In many ways, this corner has become a crucial central nerve for Tahrir Square, being one of the main gates or entrances to the square and the site of numerous contentious confrontations and street fights.

After the outbreak of the revolution, almost all the corners of the streets in the area, including the intersection of Mohamed Mahmoud Street and Tahrir Square, became filled with easily mobile plastic chairs such that the space was quickly turned into a “street café” for the poor. For several months, it seemed that that those who sat at these cafes, gazing for hours at the life of Tahrir Square while sipping their tea, were watching a performance free-of-charge.

The Mohamed Mahmoud-Tahrir Square corner is also the site of a major metro station exit, which has become a sleeping area for the street children and old homeless men and women. During the winter, it is not uncommon to see several homeless children sleeping on the floor, seeking shelter by the wall of the metro station exit.

              
                                                      [Photo by Mona Abaza (Captured 29 August 2012)]

              
                                                            [Photo by Mona Abaza (Captured 8 June 2012)]

The Half Tantawi-Half Mubarak Renewable Portraits

The Mohamed Mahmoud Street corner famously featured successive series of portraits, showing half the face of Mubarak combined with a variety of different political figures, evoking parallels between the deposed president and his successors. The portraits, which were produced by rabitat fanani al-thawrah (“The association of the artists of the revolution”), kept on being erased on a regular basis, presumably because the government must have felt utterly humiliated by such a negative portrayal. Yet despite successive attempts by Egyptian authorities to erase the paintings, the wall never stayed empty more than a few hours before it was repainted with the same images, usually with more detailed additions and variations. It is interesting to note that the same graffiti was later replicated on the walls of the Itihadiyya presidential palace in Heliopolis after the eruption of the massive demonstrations against Morsi’s controversial constitutional declaration, as well as the constitutional referendum that was hastily convened last December.

            
                                                  [Photo by Mona Abaza. Captured 21 February 2012)]

              
                                                         [Photo by Mona Abaza (Captured 25 March 2012)]

The half-Mubarak-half-Tantawi portrait, featured in the second photograph above, was captured in March 2012. On top of the painting are the words “The revolution continues.” The statement at the bottom reads illi kallif ma matsh, meaning “one [i.e. Mubarak] who delegated authority to someone [i.e. Tantawi] has not died.” This phrase rhymes with the popular saying illi khalif ma matsh, or “one who produced off-springs has not died.” Below the phrase is the following sentence: “A [military] council of shame and a lying Field Marshal.” Painted by Alaa Awad, the black panthers on the right hand side of the portraits symbolize the defenders of the revolution, who are ready to attack at any moment (see my interview with Alaa Awad). This same image has been erased and subsequently repainted several times in exactly the same size.

              
                                                         [Photo by Mona Abaza (Captured 31 May 2012)]

Half-portraits of presidential hopefuls and former Mubarak aides, Amr Moussa and Ahmed Shafiq were later added to the same painting. To left of the image is a statement that reads: “I will never grant you any trust, neither will you rule me one more day.”

             
                                                              [Photo by Mona Abaza (26 September 2012)]

The photograph featured above was taken in September 2012 after that the wall was once again erased. The half-Mubarak-half-Tantawi portrait was repainted in a smaller size, with the addition of a portrait of Muslim Brotherhood General Guide Mohamed Badie. Below it is an image of a painter using his brush fresh with dripping paint as a weapon in confronting a policeman’s stick. A poem at the bottom reads:

“You, a regime scared of a brush and a pen

You were unjust and crushed those who suffered injustice

If you were honest, you would have not been fearful of painting

The best you can do is conduct a war on walls, and exert your power over lines and colors

Inside, you are a coward who can never build what was destroyed”

 The Martyrs of the Revolution

              
                [Clashes between security forces and protesters in Tahrir Square area. Photo by Mona Abaza (Captured
                                                                               23 November 2012)]

              
                                                     [Photo by Mona Abaza (Captured 30 November 2012)]

              
                                                        [Photo by Mona Abaza (Captured 30 November 2012)]

The photos above were captured on 30 November 2012 when Mohamed Mahmoud Street was deserted in the aftermath of the aforementioned clashes between security forces and protesters. The photographs on the floor are of the martyrs who died in the previous year in the November 2011 clashes that happened on that same street. The display of the martyrs did not last for long, and was removed a few days later.

The display appeared during the height of days-long confrontations on Mohamed Mahmoud Street between protesters and the police. The clashes had quickly escalated after seventeen-year old Gaber Salah, (famously nicknamed Jika) was shot dead. At the outset of these confrontations, revolutionaries put up a large sign at the entrance of the street clearly stating: “The entry of the [Muslim] Brothers is forbidden”.

              
                           [“The entry of [Muslim] Brothers is forbidden.” Photo by Mona Abaza (23 November 2012)]

              
              [Clashes between security forces and protesters in Tahrir Square area. Photo by Mona Abaza (Captured 23
                                                                                    November 2012)]

 Three New Black Plaques on the Street Corner

              
                          [Paintings featuring anti-regime poem. Photo by Mona Abaza (Captured 8 December 2012)]

              
                        [Plaque featuring poem by Amal Dunqul. Photo by Mona Abaza (Captured 7 December 2012)]

              
                                                       [Photo by Mona Abaza (Captured 7 December 2012)]

              
                                                     [Photo by Mona Abaza (Captured 7 December 2012)]

On 7 December 2012 I met a man at the corner of the street who had used tiles and sand to create a protected space for plants in front of the Mohamed Mahmoud Street wall. Insisting on keeping anonymity and identifying himself as a “simple citizen of Egypt,” he told me that he was trying to create “a memorial space” for the martyrs of Mohamed Mahmoud Street battles by placing in that area on a daily basis plants and icons commemorating the martyrs of the revolution. Together with a group of people, he decided to hang on the wall three plaques of black marble. The small plaque beneath the plants read: “From the people of Egypt”. On top of the half-Tantawi-half-Badie-half-Mubarak portraits, another black stone displayed a Quranic verse. Another black plaque was nailed to the other side of the wall. Dedicated to the martyrs of the January 25 Revolution, it contained a poem by the late Amal Dunqul. The poem described the harshness of walls that paradoxically inspire and generate hope for finally seeing the light of freedom. 

              
                                                        [Photo by Mona Abaza (Captured 8 December 2012)]

              
                                                      [Photo by Mona Abaza (Captured 8 December 2012)]

              
                                                        [Photo by Mona Abaza (Captured 8 December 2012)]

In the spirit of the inconclusiveness of Egypt’s ongoing revolution, I will refrain from offering a conclusion to this essay. However, I would like to close by saying that, as long as Egypt’s wielders of power continue to undermine calls for revolutionary change in the country, the walls of Mohamed Mahmoud Street, and many others, will continue to offer an arena for the lively expression of political dissent and resistance. The dramaturgical performance that Mohamed Mahmoud Street is witnessing today will continue to unfold. The play is far from over.

___________________
[1] For an interesting reading of the revolution as a “performance” and as dramaturgy, see Amira Taha and Christopher Combs “ Of Drama and Performance: Transformative Discourses of the Revolution” in Translating Egypt´s Revolution, The Language of Tahrir, Edited By Samia Mehrez (AUC Press, 2012), and Jeffrey C. Alexander Performative Revolution in Egypt: An Essay in Cultural Power (Bloomsbury Academic, London, New York, 2011).

التحرير لامركزية الميدان

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على مدار عقود عانى فيها المصريون من حكم استبدادي جثم على الصدور لم يترك لهم فرصة لإلتقاط الأنفاس ولا مخرج فانصرفوا إلى متابعة أمور حياتهم اليومية، بينما انصرف آخرون إلى الهجرة. هجرة خارج حدود الوطن، وأخرى خارج حدود الزمن فعادوا القهقرى إلى الوراء حيث أزمنة غابرة خلت كنوع من الهروب من واقع قاتم وكمحاولة أيضاً لاستعادة هذه الحقب الزمنية الفائتــة لتطبيقها فى الواقع بالقوة، إن اقتضــت الضرورة ذلك.

في إطار الحديث عن وطن تبدو ملامحه بين أبناء هجروه خارح الحدود سواء كانت هذه الحدود جغرافية أو تاريخية، وبين كتلة جماهيرية عريضة مهمشــة، ونخبة بدلاً من أن تمارس دوراً فى تحريك وتشكيل هذه الكتلة انصرفت عنها متوقعقة على ذاتها فى أبراجها العاجية "بكل تنظيراتها" أو بتملق الحاكم والتمرغ فى تراب السلطة؛ يتضح لنا أن ثمة رابط قد فقد بين جماهير الشعب فلم يعد يجمعهم شىء سوى انتصارت فريق الكرة. شعب تجمعه الكرة. يفرح لانتصارتها ويحزن لاخفاقاتها. أعلام الوطن لاترفرف إلا فى ظل مناسبة كروية مظفرة ! 

إلا أن أحداً لم يكن ليتصور أن مجموعة كبيرة من شباب الوطن وقد تحلوا بروح عصر جديد يتميز بالتقدم فى كل شىء خاصة فى وسائل الاتصال، وتخلصوا من إحباطات جيل الآباء وتمكنوا من إيجــاد الآلية التى ستسهم فى عودة الروح للجماهير التائهة، الشباب الذى وعى على واقع مرير يغلل أعناقهم، فلم يكن من بد سوى الهروب كأسلافهم. ولكنهم هنا هربوا لإيجاد الحل عبر تدشينهم لميادينهم الخاصة على الشبكات الاجتماعية. جيل كامل هرب من واقع مؤلم الى فضـــاء لاتحده حدود. تواصلوا بأصابعهم على "لوحات المفاتيح" أفرغوا هموهم أنشأوا ما يمكن تسميته "بالعقــل الجمعى الرقمي ". أعدوا الخطة، خطة اعادة إحياء وطن، فــكان الميــــدان.

للتـــحرير ميدان

قلنا أن ثمة رابط كان مفقوداً بين جماهير الشعب، فجاء الميدان الذى كان مسرح العرض الحقيقي لبروفة "الميدان الافتراضي" الذى دشن على الشبكات الاجتماعية بواسطة الشباب. الشباب الذي أسماه أباطرة النظام السابق من قبل "شباب الفيس بوك" على سبيل السخرية منه. الميدان الحقيقى كان بمبادرة الشباب، إلا أنه جمع حوله كل فئات الشعب، صغيره وكبيره ورجاله ونساءه ومسلميه ومسيحيه. الميدان كان هو الرابط الذى طال تيه الجماهير عنه والذى أعاد وحدتها مرة أخرى. الميدان كان التحرير، تحرير الوطن وتحرير الانسان المصرى أيضاً. وعلى مدار الثمانية عشر يوماً التى أطاحت بالنظام كان الميدان بمثابة البوتقة التى صهرت بداخلها كل أطياف المجتمع وكل التوجهات الأيدلوجية المختلفة تحت شعار ومطلب واحد.

الميدان المشار إليه هنا ليس فقط التحرير بالقاهرة، بل كل ميادين التحرير فى مختلف أنحاء المحروسة. فالبتوازى كانت ميادين السويس والاسكندرية والمنصورة والمحلة وبعض محافظات الصعيد ,إلا أن عدداً من الاسباب أدت إلى ظهور طريقة خاصة فى التعامل مع ميدان التحرير بالقاهرة يمكن اجمالها كالتالي:

  •  أن الثورة ذاتها تم تسويقها وتصديرها للخارج عبر ميدان التحرير بالقاهرة وتم التعامل مع الميدان على أنه- الثورة والعكس.
  • أن ميدان التحرير كان بمثابة المحرك لكل ميادين التحرير الأخرى. فتحددت أفعالها وتحركاتها بناء على ما يصدر من التحرير. وهذا استمر بعد أيام الثورة الأولى فى عدد كبير من الأحداث أبرزها اعتصام أبريل ويوليو وأحداث محمد محمود؛ مما أعطى للميدان ميزة تفضيلية عن بقية الميادين.
  • أن أدبيات الثورة المصرية والتعاطي الاعلامي معها على المستوى المحلي والدولي أيضاً تناولت الميدان بنوع من القدسية ونصبته كأيقونة متقدة لكل المناضلين والمطالبين بالحرية. بل أن اسم الميدان أصبعلامة مسجلة وتم تداوله فيما بعد على نطاق واسع فى عدد كبير من الاحتجاجات والثورات التى عصفت ببعض الدول الاخرى.
  • يكمن السبب الأخير فى موقع الميدان الجغرافي في قلب القاهرة النابض؛ مما يجعله محط أنظار الجميع. كان له أبلغ الأثر فى تأثير الميدان على غيره.

لكل هذه الأسباب السالف ذكرها يتبين لنا أن لميدان التحرير بالقاهرة وضعية مميزة عن باقي الميادين، إلا أنها لم تصل بعد "فى تقديرنا" لدرجة المركزية ؛لأن ثمة حقائق تبرز لنا مؤكدة أن الميدان لم يكن سوى واجهة الثورة ليس أكثر؛ فواقعة مقتل "خالد سعيد" والذي تعد وفاته بمثابة فتيل الثورة حدثت فى الاسكندرية. وكحقيقة أن أول شهيد سقط فى الثورة كان فى ميدان الأربعين بمدينة السويس. وتكمن أهمية عدم التعامل مع ميدان التحرير كمركز الثورة لتفادي تحوله "وحده" لأداة ضغط قد تعبر فقط عن مجموعة بعينها وليس عن أغلبية الجماهير ولأنه لا يعقل أن نقضي على المركزية بمركزية شديدة قد تكون أشد وطأة من سابقتها لكونها مركزية طغمــة هذه المرة.

الإســـكندرية ... شــرارة الثورة:

في شهر يونيو 2010، أي قبل قيام الثورة بشهور قليلة انتشــر خبر مقتــل الشاب" خالد سعيد" على يد أمناء شرطة فى الاسكندرية بعد أن قاما بتعذيبه حتى الموت. ليكون بوفاته أحد أبرز أسباب التعجيل بقيام الثورة. ودشنت صفحة على موقع الفيس بوك تحمل اسمه لتصبح واحدة من أنشط الصفحات السياسية وأحد الصفحات الداعية لتظاهرات 25 يناير. ومنذ وفاة "خالد سعيد"والاسكندرية تعج بالمظاهرات والوقفات الصامتة بالملابس السوداء التي امتدت لمدن أخرى متفرقة ,ٍإلى أن وقع حادث تفجير كنيسة القديسين بمنطقة بسيدى جابر. ومن بعده وفاة "سيد بلال " إثر تعذيبه أثناء التحقيق معه بنفس الوحشية التى توفي بها "خالد سعيد" فبدا وكأن الاسكندرية على صفيح ساخن.

إبان الثورة مرت الاسكندرية بمرحلتين :

2.1 فى أيام الثورة الأولى "جمعــة الغضب"

يقول الناشط السياسي محمد رخا أثناء معاصرته للثورة في الاسكندرية " قبل يوم جمعة الغضب اجتمعت اللجنة التنسيقية للحـركات السياسية للإعداد لهذا اليوم. وتم الإتفاق على تقسيم الشباب لمجموعات صغيرة تخرج من أحياء مختلفة وتحاول استقطاب الناس عقب صلاة الجمعة ولأسباب أمنية لم يتم الإعلان عن الأماكن المحددة لكل مجموعة سوى صباح يوم الجمعة والذى شهد انقطاع عام فى جميع وسائل الاتصال وأصبح نزول المجموعات عشوائياً ويعتمد على القرب الجغرافى لمنازل الناشطين بعضهم البعض". ويضيف: "خرجت المسيرات من أحياء مختلفة ومن شوارع عدة وكانت تلتحم ببعضها البعض سريعاً وتتزايد الأعداد بشكل مضطرد، أماكن التجمع التلقائية كانت الشارعين الكبيرين فى الإسكندرية وهما شارع الكورنيش وشارع أبو قير، وفي النهاية بعد عبور المسيرات للمنطقة الشمالية وقسم سيدى جابر، تلتحم جميعها على طريق الكورنيش وتبدأ فى الاتجاه ناحية المحافطة ".

وعن أبرز أماكن خروج المسيرات يقول "رخا": يصعب تحديد الأماكن بدقة نظراً للعشوائية التى شابت اليوم ولكن أبزر الأماكن هي:

  •  سيدي بشر والعصافرة
  • بكوس وفلمنج
  • القائد إبراهيم
  • محرم بك وبحري

وعن علاقة الإسكندرية بميدان التحرير أثناء تلك الأيام، يقول "رخــا": لم يكن ميدان التحرير سوى أحد الميادين ولم يهتم أحد بأخبار الميادين الأخرى خاصة فى ظل حالة انعدام وسائل الاتصال والإنترنت وقتها." ونضيف من جانبنا أن ميدان التحرير ذاته لم يكن قد وقع بعد فى أيدي الثوار الذين كانوا يخوضون معارك ضارية فى أنحاء وميادين أخرى فى القاهرة مع قوات الأمن المركزى حتى نزول قوات الجيش مساء يوم جمعة الغضب.

1. 2 ما بعــد ما موقعة الجمل وحتى يوم التنحــي

بعد موقعة الجمل "والتى تعتبر آخر مواجهة مع النظام البائد" خلى الميدان تماماً للثوار وظهر نجمه الذى سطع طاغياً على باقى ميادين التحرير,وأصبح قبلة يتخذها الجميع ,وكعبة يحلم بالطواف حولها كل ثائر مصرى. فمحمد رخا يكمل شهادته قائلاً: "فى الأيام التالية لموقعة الجمل ، صار ميدان التحرير بمثابة قلب الثورة النابض، وأصبح الجميع يتابع أخباره لحظة بلحظة ومستعداً للدفاع عنه بكل غال ونفيس".

ليس هذا فحسب، بل بدأت عمليات هجرة جماعية من ثوار الاسكندرية نحو ميدان التحرير. يقول رخــا: " فى الأيام اللاحقة تزايدت أعداد المهاجرين من الإسكندرية إلى ميدان التحرير وأنا واحد منهم فقد رأينا أن زيادة الأعداد فى ميدان التحرير أهم من تواجدنا فى مسيرات فى الإسكندرية ". لنصل فى النهاية إلى نتيجة مفادها والكلام لرخا "أن ثبات ميدان التحرير هو الضامن الوحيد للثورة" .مع إستمرار المسيرات والاعتصام فى الإسكندرية فى الوقت ذاته وإن ارتبطت إرتباطا" وثيقاً بما يحدث ويصدر عن ميدان التحرير.

الســويس ... بلد المقاومــة والثورة

قد لا يذكر الكثيرون الآن أن أول شهيد سقط فى الثورة المصرية كان فى مدينة السويس، مفجراً بموته حماس وغضب الملايين فى باقى أنحاء الجمهوري. السويس التى تحظى بحب وتقدير شديدين من جميع المصريين منذ أن صمدت أمام العدوان الصهيوني فى أعقاب حرب أكتوبر قُدر لها أن يكون لديها نفس القائد الذى قاد علميات المقاومة الشعبية ضد الاحتلال وهو الشيخ "حافظ سلامة" الذي قاد هو أيضاً الجموع الثائرة من أبناء بلد الغريب ضد مغتصب ومستبد هذه المرة .

كانت السويس فى ساعات الثورة الأولى مثلها مثل المدن المصرية الغاضبة فى كل مكان فى أرض مصر المحروسة فى ذاك الوقت. يقول "أمير أحمد" أحد شباب الثورة فى السويس عن يوم 25 يناير: "بدأ ذلك اليوم فى ميدان الأربعين عادياً جداً إلا من تلك التجمعات للمئات من الساخطين على نظام الحكم وسياسات القمع السائدة فى مصر وممارسات الداخلية ضد الشعب. ثم بدأت تلك الأعداد تتجه باتجاه مبنى المحافظة وميدان الأربعين وقد أخذت فى الازدياد. ولجأت الشرطة إلى استخدام العنف لفض المتظاهرين فقامت قوات الامن المركزى بإلقاء القنابل المسيلة للدموع ورشاشات المياه والطلقات المطاطية والخراطيش". ويضيف أمير: " بعد اعلان وفاة ثلاثة شهداء ومئات المصابين، تيقنت أن الأمر لن يمر مرور الكرام وقد تحول المشهد في الاربعين من تظاهرات سلمية الى ثورة غضب".

وعن السويس أثناء يوم جمعة الغضب، يقول أمير: " كانت قوات الشرطة قليلة بعض الشيء عن الأيام السابقة وإن تم سحب اعداد كبيرة منهم الى المحافظة وقسم السويس. وبعد صلاة الجمعة نزل عشرات الآلاف إلى الشارع السويسي بغضب لا مثيل له، وقابلت قوات الأمن المركزي الأعداد بالضرب وقنابل الغاز ولكن لم يتراجع أحد. كان السوايسة على قلب رجل واحد، قاومنا عنف الشرطة حتى انسحبت مخلفة وراءها العربات والمدرعات، وبعدها بقليل تمت السيطرة تماماًعلى ميدان الأربعين ليقوم الشيخ "حافظ سلامة" ببدء تشكيل اللجان الشعبية ".

أما فيما يخص العلاقة بين السويس وميدان التحرير، يقول أمير: "بعد انتهاء يوم جمعة الغضب وسيطرة الثوار بشكل كامل على ميدان التحرير، بدأ دوره الحقيقى وأصبح هو قلب الاحداث من وجهة نظري". أما بخصوص سيطرة ميدان التحرير على نصيب الأسد من إهتمام الاعلام المحلي والعالمي، فيــرى أمير أن ذلك "طبيعي بشكل كبير نظراً لتأثيره وانتقال معظم الثائرين إليه من مختلف ميادين التحرير فى الجمهورية".

في خلاصة عرضنا لأحداث الثورة فى أبرز ميادين التحرير المصرية بقي أن نقول إن ذلك العرض لم يكن إلا لتأكيد فكرة أن الثورة كانت شعبية بإمتياز، بمعنى أنها لم تكن ثورة نخبة مهما كانت ماهية هذه النخبة. وإذا كان ميدان التحرير قد أصبح قبلة الثائرين الباحثين عن الحرية والانعتاق من ربقة الاستبداد وصار عنواناً تهوى إليه الأفئدة المتعطشة لجرعة أمل فى الخلاص,فمن الأهمية بمكان أن نذكر أنه ما كان ليحصل على هذه المكانة لولا الجماهير الثائرة التى نصبته قبلتها متحدثاً بإسمها، معبراً عن آمالها, ومؤكداً لأهدافها, في ثورة بيــضاء كان سلاحها الأبرز هو قوة هتافات مشعليها. فظهرت الحاجة لتوحيد هذه الهتافات التى بدورها تعبر عن المطالب التى اتفق عليها الجميع، فكان لا بد فى النهاية من توحيد الميدان حيث يصبح رمزا" للثورة ... والثوار. قام المصريون بثورة ملهمة أسقطوا فيها خلال ثمانية عشر يوماً واحداً من أعتى الأنظمة إستبداداً؛ لأنهم آمنوا بفكرة. والميدان كان حاضناً لتلك الفكرة، ولم يكن يوماً.. مركزها.


Meet AbdelRahman Mansour Who Made 25 January A Date to Remember

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AbdelRahman Mansour is the cyberactivist who set the date of 25 January for the Egyptian revolution. It is time for you to meet him.

In June 2010, at twenty-three years old, AbdelRahman approached Wael Ghonim to set up a Facebook page and anti-torture campaign in honor of Khaled Said, the Alexandrian killed at the hands of police. The two had been working together as administrators (or admins) on Mohamed ElBaradei’s Facebook page and were ready to take their cyber-campaigning to the next level. The combination of AbdelRahman’s deftness at interacting with Arab cyberyouth, combined with Ghonim’s expert online marketing skills, made for a winning combination. The “We Are All Khaled Said” Facebook made history as the page to grow a youth movement, and, after Tunisia, ignite a revolution.

AbdelRahman came up with the idea of turning the national holiday for Police Day on 25 January into a Facebook event, “Revolution of the Egyptian People” (Thawrat Shaab Misr). Ghonim, who had been branding the page as a non-violent anti-torture campaign, not a revolutionary movement, did not think this a good idea. After some convincing, he reluctantly agreed. No one thought the event would trigger an actual revolution and lead to the fall of the thirty-year rule of Hosni Mubarak; a host of other social forces and groups came into play to make that happen. The fact remains that AbdelRahman Mansour is the activist who set 25 January as an enduring date in history.

Unlike the unmasking of his co-admin, Wael Ghonim, which was an international media sensation, AbdelRahman Mansour has been almost entirely overlooked or missed. As Ghonim has risen as a heroic symbol of the revolution—earning awards, speaking engagements, and a seven-figure book deal, Mansour has gone unsung, at least in the western press. What explains this celebration of one admin and anonymity of the other?

The first explanation is that Ghonim has the backing of the corporate giant Google, his employer, and is fluent in English. Mansour, seven years Ghonim’s junior, is more connected and comfortable in an Arabic speaking milieu. Ghonim underplayed Mansour’s role in his book, Revolution 2.0, presumably for Mansour’s own protection. But Ghonim later posted an Arabic note on Facebook, “An Egyptian Whose Name is AbdelRahman Mansour” giving him full credit for his stewardship of the page.  A second explanation is that on 17 January, Mansour was called to serve his compulsory military service. He was literally locked away in military barracks with no access to communications. Nevertheless, his friends thought it unfair that Ghonim was getting all the credit for the Khaled Said page. On 21 February 2011, Shady Ghazali Harb, 
a representative of the Democratic Front Party and member of the Revolution’s Youth Coalition, called into the popular Egyptian television program, “10 p.m. Show” (Al Ashera Masa`an). During a live on-air conversation with the host he disclosed Mansour’s identity as the other admin of the “We Are All Khaled Said” Facebook page. He explained that activists did not come forward earlier because they were not sure if it would put Mansour at risk during his military service. Some local news outlets including Al-Jazeera and Ahram Online, picked up the story. AbdelRahman became a folk hero among the “Facebook youth” in Egypt and the Arab world. At least two Facebook groups were created in his honor, “We are all Abdel Rahman Mansour” and “Abdel Rahman Mansour.”

Mansour, who kept a low profile even after finishing his military service, finally had a proper public coming out on 3 December 2012, when he appeared on Yousry Fouda’s program, “Last Words” (Akher Kalam). He explained, “What made me decide to talk now is because after electing the first post-revolution civilian president, we continue to witness the same form of dictatorship and tyranny [that we had before the revolution].” He called on his fellow Egyptians to protest Mohamed Morsi’s power grab.

Since the age of seventeen AbdelRahman Mansour has been involved in some of the most pioneering and popular Arabic new media initiatives of the times. He lives online and says, “For me, the internet, technology, is like water. It is part of anything I do in my life.” His first professional job in 2004 was working with the website and television show of the wildly popular televangelist, Amr Khaled. He then went on to be one of the founders of Wikileaks Arabic. At the same time he was an active blogger and a contributor to “Kulina Layla,” an annual feminist event. He also worked as an online reporter with Al-Jazeera and Al-Arabiya.

AbdelRahman’s activism seamlessly moves between the virtual and physical worlds, though his online presence resonates far wider and louder. He attended his first street demonstration in 2003 with his parents, both long time members of the Muslim Brotherhood, to protest the invasion of Iraq.  In 2005, the year of Egyptian parliamentary and presidential elections, he joined the Kefaya movement. He stepped up his anti-Mubarak activism while a freshman at Mansoura University. With a group of friends he produced a satirical political magazine, “Town Guys” (Awlad El Balad). At that time he was active in the Muslim Brotherhood, but left the group due to differences of opinion. He explains, “I cannot say there was one single reason for leaving the group, there were several reasons. I wanted to be part of a broader movement, something bigger than the Brotherhood. I wanted to continue working [politically] but not necessarily by belonging to one party or a single organization.”

His first experience with anti-torture activism was in 2008 when an Egyptian citizen was tortured by burning in the city Shoha in the district of Mansoura District. He became interested in following that torture case and to try to do something about it. Also in 2008, he got arrested while taking photos during the local elections. In 2010, with a good degree of social media cyberactivist training under his belt, AbdelRahman served in a team of admins for the ElBaradei Facebook page. In June 2010 the Khaled Said incident took place and the rest is history.

In this exclusive interview for Jadaliyya, AbdelRahman talks about what it means to be a youth leader in the age of social media, the pros and cons of anonymity, where he turns for new ideas, and the struggles involved in building a new Egypt.

Brothers and Officers: A History of Pacts

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The politics of the past two years have generated widespread interest in the historical relationship between the Muslim Brotherhood (MB) and Egypt’s wielders of power, especially at a time when observers are eager to understand the prospects for accommodation (or adversity) between the MB and traditional bureaucratic powers inside the Egyptian state, such as the military establishment.

For instance, the circumstances surrounding the election of President Mohamed Morsi in June 2012 have raised numerous questions about the MB’s relationship with Egypt’s military rulers. During the lead-up to the announcement of the election results, it seemed that the Supreme Council of the Armed Forces (SCAF) was bargaining with the Brotherhood over the future of the country. While official results were due on 20 June, their announcement was postponed to 24 June with little transparency on why the official vote count was being withheld and what was happening behind the scenes.

MB statements at the time suggested that the SCAF was holding the results hostage until the group accepts the continuation of military leaders’ reserved powers as per the constitutional annex that SCAF had issued on 17 June 2012 shortly before the end of voting. Before it was annulled last August by President Morsi, the annex to the Constitutional Declaration set limitations on presidential authority and granted the SCAF legislative powers in light of the dissolution of parliament in mid-June. In its official response that same month, the MB vowed to fight for presidential powers and called on its supporters to occupy Tahrir Square in protest of SCAF’s constitutional annex. Eventually, official results were released declaring Morsi’s victory. The MB’s nominee ended up swearing the oath to the Supreme Constitutional Court, thus implicitly recognizing the dissolution of parliament and the SCAF-sponsored constitutional framework that the Brotherhood supposedly rejected. Morsi became Egypt’s first elected president after the January 25 Revolution, yet one question remains lurking in the background: at what price?

The lead-up to Morsi’s election is by no means the first time observers have been left to speculate about underhanded deals between the Brotherhood and Egyptian authorities. Since the days of the monarchy, the relationship between the MB and Egypt's power wielders has been subject to debate and controversy. While the MB has conventionally been known as a strong oppositionist voice that has been subjected to the wrath of successive Egyptian rulers in the form of marginalization and repression, others argue that the story is much more complicated.

Since the toppling of Mubarak, many have speculated about whether covert pacts and understandings between the Muslim Brotherhood and the SCAF have been in place, and if so, what did they entail? Complicating any investigations of such allegations is a political environment in which the Brotherhood and its adversaries have constantly been exchanging politically motivated accusations of collaboration with the country’s military leaders. The historical context and the events of the past year, however, are quite revealing.

Little has changed about the opaqueness with which decisions are taken inside the MB’s organization, according to Khalil al-Anani, scholar of Middle East Politics at School of Government and International Affairs at Durham University. Anani writes, “Not surprisingly, they are involved in negotiating, compromising, and brokering the future of the country behind the scene.”

Many reports have claimed that during the turmoil of the eighteen-day uprising in February 2011, members of the MB’s Guidance Bureau met secretly with then-Vice President Omar Suleiman, reportedly to work out an agreement that would clear out Tahrir Square of protesters calling for the fall of the Hosni Mubarak regime. Details about this meeting were disclosed by MB spokesman Mahmoud Ghozlan as well as Brotherhood member Haitham Abu-Khalil, who would later leave the group, allegedly in protest of the MB’s meeting with Suleiman. Mohamed Habib, who served as an advisor to the General Guide until 2010, identified the Brotherhood's negotiators as Saad al-Katatny, the former speaker of the house, and would-be President Mohamed Morsi. Brotherhood leaders were asked by Suleiman to withdraw from Tahrir, Habib explains, in exchange for the release of prominent MB figures Khairat El-Shater and Hassan Malek. The alleged deal eventually fell through when the MB's youth refused to evacuate the square. El-Shater would later be released on 2 March 2011 and it remains unclear whether or not his release was part of a similar deal with the SCAF.

[Muslim Brotherhood MP Abdel Fattah Eid in a conversation in parliament with Mahmoud Mohy Al-Din, minister of investment under Hosni Mubarak. Photo from wikimedia commons]

Following Mubarak’s ouster, Egypt’s military leaders made a host of gestures toward the majority of Islamist movements in the country. For instance, SCAF released Aboud and Tarek El Zomor of the Islamic Jihad group who had been convicted of involvement in the assassination of Egyptian president Anwar al-Sadat.

Shortly after Mubarak stepped down, SCAF appointed Islamist-leaning figures, like Tarek al-Bishri and MB member Sobhi Saleh, to serve on the committee tasked with preparing the constitutional amendments. The amendments were later ratified in a national referendum on 19 March 2011.

Deepening the perception that the Brotherhood and the SCAF were joined by some kind of agreement, the MB ceased its participation in contentious public protests after the toppling of Mubarak. The Brotherhood, moreover, praised and defended the performance of Egypt’s military rulers, despite the continued prevalence of repressive practices of which MB activists were victims in the past, including military trials of civilians. The group’s support for the military evoked images of the Brotherhood’s pro-King Farouk demonstrations, which it organized in 1937 in order to counter the Al-Wafd Party’s demonstrations supporting El-Nahas against the Palace.

Articulating this widespread perception at the time, Egyptian novelist and revolutionary writer, Alaa Al-Aswany wrote, “Why did they [the Muslim Brotherhood] make an alliance with Ismail Sidki, 'the butcher of the people', and support King Farouk, shouting 'God is with the king'? Why did they support [former President Gamal] Abdel Nasser when he put an end to the democratic experiment and abolished political parties, while their own organization was exempted from the abolition? Why did their leader say in 2005 that he supported Hosni Mubarak?”

History was repeating itself, or at least so it seemed from the perspective of many members of Egypt’s non-Islamist political community.

The Brothers and the Officers After Mubarak

In the immediate aftermath of Mubarak’s toppling, the MB, along with other Islamist movements and figures, took an active role in using religious rhetoric to build public support for the SCAF-sponsored constitutional amendments. Meanwhile, the Brotherhood boycotted almost all revolutionary protests, such as those demanding retribution for individuals killed by security forces during the 2011 uprising, an end to military trials of civilians, and the bringing to justice members of the former regime suspected of wrong-doing.

Besides turning a blind eye to the illegal status of the MB, SCAF permitted the group, as well as Salafist movements, to form political parties under dubious legal circumstances, since the political party law bars the formation of parties based on religion.

On its part, the Brotherhood boycotted the 8 July 2011 sit-in. The three-week sit-in called for the purging of the judiciary and the bringing to justice of Mubarak and those responsible for killing protesters during the 2011 eighteen-day uprising. After criticizing the July sit-in, the Brotherhood later called for mass protests on 28 July under the banner, “The Friday of Unity.” The protests were quickly dubbed by observers “Friday of Kandahar,” because they were dominated by Islamist groups and their followers, who called for an Islamic state and support for the army.

In November 2011, then-Deputy Prime Minister Ali al-Selmi, presumably on behalf of SCAF, proposed to political parties a document containing principles that would have governed the drafting of a new constitution for Egypt. One draft of the controversial document, which came to be known as al-Selmi document, granted the military a privileged position of power and rendered it above parliamentary accountability and oversight. The Brotherhood called for public protests on 18 November 2011 in rejection of al-Selmy document on grounds that it robbed the prospective constitution-writing assembly of its powers. Ironically, central elements of al-Selmi document, such as those setting the military’s budget and activities above the reach of conventional parliamentary oversight and accountability, eventually made their way to the MB-sponsored constitution that was ratified in a national referendum in December 2012.

[Then-Interior Minister Mohammed Ibrahim talks at the Egyptian Parliament on 7 February 2012. Ibrahim denied that police had fired birdshots at protesters during deadly clashes between security and demonstrators. At top the speaker of Parliament Saad Al Katatni. Photo Source: AP]

Despite the MB’s initial anti-SCAF posture in November 2011, as security forces began attacking unarmed protesters around the Ministry of Interior building in the infamous Mohamed Mahmoud battles of 19-24 November 2011, the Brotherhood chose not to support protesters. As clashes ensued in Cairo and elsewhere, forty-one people died and over one thousand were injured. Meanwhile, the Brotherhood skirted serious criticism of the SCAF, and pushed forward its election campaign in preparation for the beginning of voting on 27 November.

Throughout the course of the People’s Assembly elections, which lasted until mid-January 2012, the MB refrained from actively opposing a host of abuses that were taking place under the auspices of military leaders, most notably during the period between 16 and 19 December 2012. At the time, security forces used deadly violence against protesters in an attempt to force an end to an anti-SCAF sit-in near the cabinet building. Shortly, thereafter, news reports circulated with remarks by a Brotherhood spokesperson stating that the group is willing to support a “safe-exit” for military leaders in the future.

In late December, an MB member filed a lawsuit against three members of the Revolutionary Socialists after they had criticized SCAF in a public lecture. The lawsuit alleged that they were trying to incite chaos throughout the country.

By the end of election season, the MB-led coalition became the largest bloc in the People’s Assembly, the parliament’s lower chamber, winning more than forty-five percent of the seats that were up for grabs.

In early January 2012, protests broke out demanding that the military hand power over to the newly elected People’s Assembly, the only democratically elected, representative body in the country. In response, the MB rejected any early handover of power and affirmed its commitment to the SCAF sponsored timetable, which had set 30 June 2012 as the deadline for an “end” to military rule.

The MB also undermined the efforts of many revolutionary activists and figures who tried to use the first anniversary of 25 January 2011 to launch a second wave of the revolution and build support for a swift end to military rule. The MB spoke out against such efforts, describing them as a plot to spread chaos throughout the country. Meanwhile, the Brotherhood turned the 25 January 2012 public rallies into festive “celebrations” in order to counter subversive voices that sought to promote opposition against the SCAF at these gatherings. Days later, in an unprecedented move, MB activists stood in for Central Security Forces (CSF) troops to shield the parliament building, where MPs were convening, from protesters and marchers who were trying to voice their grievances to their newly-elected legislators.

The MB once again supported SCAF and its sponsored government following the massacring of seventy-four people in Port Said Stadium after a soccer match held on 1 February 2012 without any intervention on the part of police forces tasked with securing the game. Subsequently, the MB bloc in parliament defended the government while security forces were attacking demonstrators who had gathered around the Ministry of Interior building to protest what they viewed as criminal negligence of police personnel present at the game. People’s Assembly speaker Saad al-Katatny reiterated the government’s claims that no birdshot pellets were being fired at the protesters, while some Brotherhood MPs claimed the protesters were infiltrated by hired thugs. This came at a time when overwhelming video evidence and eyewitness testimony proved otherwise.

The Brothers and the Wielders of Power in History

While some MB positions after the 2011 uprising could be construed merely as alignment with the SCAF, there is a widespread perception that the group’s actions were driven by covert agreements with Egypt’s military rulers.

In the past, the MB had not managed to make substantive political gains, such as winning seats in parliament, without the regime’s consent or some sort of understanding with the wielders of power. The MB’s election agreements with centers of power date back to as early as 1942, when the Brothers and Al-Wafd struck a deal involving electoral concessions and social reforms. Richard P. Mitchell describes the agreement in his book The Society of the Muslim Brothers:

“[Muslim Brotherhood founder Hassan al-]Banna declared himself a candidate for the district of Ismai`iliyya, the birthplace of his movement, but no sooner had he done so than [Wafdist leader and Prime Minister at the time Mostafa al-]Nahhas summoned him and called upon him to withdraw. Without much debate, he consented, but ‘at a price’ which included (1) freedom for the movement to resume full scale operations; and (2) a promise of government action against the sale of alcohol and against prostitution. [Al]-Nahhas agreed, and very shortly ordered restrictions on the sale of liquor at certain times of every day, during Ramadan and on religious holidays. Similarly, he took steps to make prostitution illegal and immediately closed down some of the brothels. He also permitted the resumption of some of the activities of the Society, including the issue of some of its publications and the holding of meetings. The issue of elections thus muted, in March [al-]Banna pledged his support to the Wafdist Government” (p. 27).

Similarly, in 1950, according to Mitchell (pp.80-82), MB leaders promised electoral support for Al Wafd party in exchange for the release of Brotherhood prisoners and resumption of their activities.

Recently uncovered evidence indicates that the MB showed a great deal of pragmatism in their willingness to cooperate with Western powers during World War II, including Germany and Britain. For example, according to a document dated 18 August 1939 published by Al-Ahram newspaper on 30 December 2006, the MB received a sum of 2000 LE to organize pro-Nazi protests. Specifically, a letter by Wilhelm Stellbogen, director of the German News Bureau in Cairo and a German military intelligence officer stated that the Muslim Brotherhood were asking for more money than what was agreed to initially to organize the protests.

In his book Secret Affairs: Britain's Collusion with Radical Islam, British journalist Mark Curtis claims that the British government had started financing the MB by 1942. Curtis writes, “In December 1951, the files show that British officials were trying to arrange a direct meeting with [then MB Guide Hassan al-]Hodeibi. Several meetings were held with one of his advisers, one Farkhani Bey, about whom little is known, although he was apparently not himself a member of the Brotherhood. The indications from the declassified British files are that Brotherhood leaders, despite their public calls for attacks on the British, were perfectly prepared to meet them in private.”

[Individuals attack the Cairo headquarters of the Muslim Brotherhood on 27 October 1954 after putting it to the torch in retaliation against an attempted assassination of Gamal Abdel Nasser in Alexandria. Photo Source: AP]

In the immediate aftermath of the 1952 “Revolution,” the MB and the Free Officers Movement maintained cordial ties. The MB supported the revolution and received preferential treatment from Egypt’s new military rulers. For example, the Muslim Brotherhood was the only group that was not subject to the decision to disband all political parties in January 1953.  It was not long after, however, that the MB quickly clashed with Gamal Abdel Nasser, who accused the group of attempting to assassinate him in 1954. The group was banned and thousands of its members were arrested. Brotherhood activists and leaders suffered greatly under Nasser’s rule, being subject to repressive tactics, imprisonment, torture, and, in some cases, execution.

While Nasser’s reign was one of repression and marginalization for the Brotherhood, Sadat’s rule witnessed a noticeable improvement in relations between the MB and Egyptian authorities. As Sadat shifted the orientation of the Egyptian economy toward greater liberalization and free markets, he opened political space for Islamist movements as means for undermining leftist opposition and Nasser’s sympathizers, especially inside college campuses. In 1971, Sadat began releasing MB members and the group was allowed resume its activities and to publish a monthly magazine, al-Da’wa.

During this same period, the regime supported the formation of Islamist student groups inside public universities as a means of countering leftist student activists who opposed Sadat’s economic liberalization measures and indecisive foreign policies toward the United States and Israel. The Brotherhood benefited greatly from the regime’s pro-Islamist posture, and many believe that it was in this context that a new generation of MB activists emerged on the political scene.

In the 1980s the MB were further incorporated into Egyptian political life. Under the early phases of Mubarak’s rule, the Brotherhood was allowed to contest elections through a variety of political alliances with licensed opposition parties. Through its alliance with Al-Wafd Party, the Brothers won eight seats in parliament in the 1984 elections, and thirty-seven seats in 1987 through its alliance with the Socialist Labor Party.

In 1991, the relationship between the Brotherhood and the Mubarak regime came under significant strain when Egyptian authorities raided Salsabel, a computer information systems company. The raid allegedly uncovered information on a Muslim Brotherhood scheme to topple the regime. A large number of MB members were arrested and prominent MB leaders faced military prosecution, including Khairat al-Shater and Hassan Malek. The charges were dropped and the case was closed but the incident marked a new wave of repression against the MB, which was effectively shut out of parliament in 1995 in legislative elections marked by state-sponsored violence and fraud.

Strains on the MB eased off by 2000, when the group managed to secure a modest, but visible representation of 17 members in parliament. A few years later, international pressures for democratization, particularly by the George W. Bush administration, prompted greater space for oppositionist politics in Egypt. During the same period, protest movements like Kifaya enhanced and amplified domestic pressures for political reforms.

[Muslim Brotherhood leaders Mustafa Mashhour, right, and  Mamoun el-Hodeiby, left, walk during the funeral of Brotherhood General Guide Mohammed Hamed Abul Nasr. 20 January 1996. Photo Source: AP]

In a move that was not unprecedented in Egypt’s modern political history, the regime resorted to the MB in order to undermine the secular opposition. At a time when opposition movements were attempting to forge broad electoral alliances to cohesively counteract the former ruling National Democratic Party (NDP)’s dominance in parliament, the MB struck an election deal with State Security and the NDP in 2005. Leaked documents uncovered by protesters who raided State Security offices in March 2011 show that the MB, through prominent figures like Al-Shater and Mohamed Morsi, coordinated its 2005 electoral plans with the NDP. Then-MB General Guide Mahdi Akef acknowledged that such meetings occurred, though he refused to characterize MB’s contacts with security officials in the lead-up to the 2005 vote as a “deal.” In response to allegations by former presidential candidate Ahmed Shafiq that the Brotherhood engaged in underhanded bargains with the Mubarak regime, the MB released a statement in June 2012 acknowledging that they had met with regime representatives in 2005, but refused their offer to strike a deal. Former MB leader Mohamed Habib, on the other hand, admitted that a deal did take place allowing the group to field 161 candidates. Abdel Hamid El Ghazali, the former general guide advisor confirmed that a deal took place, but claims that the regime eventually abrogated it.

As one situates allegations of SCAF-MB cooperation in this historical context, it becomes rather difficult to dismiss the likelihood that deals between the two sides took place, as tentative as the evidence remains so far. In an article dated 15 January 2012 Al-Dostor Al-Asli newspaper, leaked the terms of an alleged deal between the SCAF and the Brotherhood whereby the MB would guarantee safe exit of SCAF personnel, and support a presidential candidate acceptable to the military and the Brotherhood, in return for sharing power in government. While these allegations emerged at a time when the MB had gone through great lengths to defend SCAF’s performance, their accuracy is difficult to establish.

Analysts are hesitant to describe MB-military understandings as a “deal” since evidence so far has proven to be circumstantial. Early in January 2012 Ashraf El Sherif, a political science professor in the American University in Cairo, told Jadaliyya, “I believe there is a path of joint understandings and bargaining between the MB and the SCAF.”

“[The] MB accepted the SCAF conditions: a system whereby the 'deep state' of the military and its security institutions will retain control over the key issues: foreign policy, strategic decisions, top economic policies and interests while the MB will be given the services ministers,” said El Sherif.

Numerous members of the Muslim Brotherhood have publicly denied that they had forged pacts or agreements with SCAF. However, the politics and statements surrounding the rifts between the Muslim Brotherhood and SCAF during the first half of 2012 suggest that earlier “promises” between the two sides may have been broken.

For example, the recurrently shifting positions of the MB over the SCAF-appointed El-Ganzouri government and whether or not it should resign are quite revealing. Until the spring of 2012, there were minor quibbles between SCAF and MB over the fact that Egypt’s military rulers had refused to allow the MB-dominated majority in parliament to form a government. The tensions, however, were subtle until 25 March 2012 when MB openly attacked SCAF in a formal statement accusing it of hindering the revolution. MB leaders claimed they were threatened by SCAF to dissolve parliament. SCAF responded by threatening MB with a 1954-like scenario.

Within the context of these confrontations, the Brotherhood announced it would field a presidential candidate despite earlier promises that it would not participate in the presidential race. An FJP delegation to Washington defended this decision in early April 2012 and attributed it to the fact that SCAF allegedly told the MB that their ‘reign on the country stops at parliament,' perhaps contrary to prior communication between both parties.  During their summer 2012 face-off with the military council, statements by MB members allude to promises they had been given by the SCAF. For example, al-Shater was quoted in June 2012 in the Wall Street Journal as saying:  “We came to think positively of the SCAF [the ruling military council] and accept its promises to share power…Those promises were not fulfilled."

A “New” Egypt?

Not long after Mohamed Morsi won the presidential elections, Egypt’s most senior military leaders, including Field Marshal Mohamed Hussein Tantawi and General Sami Anan were retired on 12 August 2012. What at first glance appeared to be a monumental revolutionary move, may well be seen as a backdoor agreement between the MB with other military leaders within SCAF when reading between the lines.

It is difficult to believe that President Morsi could have retired Tantawi and Anan without some firm understandings with other senior military leaders. The aftermath of SCAF’s “exit” from politics is even more suggestive. For instance, no senior military officer has been tried for wrongdoing committed during the transitional period. In fact, Tantawi and Anan were offered the highest state honor in the wake of their retirement. When pressed about the government’s reluctance to address the military’s past crimes, Prime Minister Hisham Qandil, like other senior officials, commended the army for its role during the transitional period, implicitly absolving the military of any wrongdoings. What is more, the military’s longstanding political and economic privileges, not only have remained untouched by the MB-controlled presidency, but also have been institutionalized in the new political order, thanks to the new constitution. The constitution, which was prepared by a Muslim Brotherhood-dominated constituent assembly, provides basis for military trials of civilians and sets the military’s budget and activities, including its revenue-generating economic enterprises, above the reach of conventional parliamentary oversight. In other words, the “new” political order in the country is one that seems to be governed by a partnership between the Muslim Brotherhood and long-standing bureaucratic centers of power entrenched inside the Egyptian state—a partnership that speaks to a long history of pacts between the Brothers and successive wielders of power in Egypt.

Was There A January 25 Revolution?

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The “January 25 Revolution” has already taken its place in Egyptian national historical memory along with the “1919 Revolution” and the “July 23 Revolution.” Assigning dates to these events, whose significance in the modern history of Egypt is undeniable, is perhaps a necessary convenience. Calling them all “revolutions” emphasizes their popular character and, at least in 1919 and 2011, the political mobilization of large parts of the nation. However, this form of dating and naming also encourages historical misunderstandings and myth-making which do not serve the interests of Egypt’s ninety nine percent.

Revolutions – the classical cases are France, Russia, China, Cuba, and Iran – are social, political, and economic transformations involving social movements and political mobilizations, one or more moments of popular uprising, and a longer-term process of reconstructing a new socio-political order involving the replacement of the former ruling coalition with new forces of a substantially different social character and interests. Anti-colonial struggles may or may not involve a revolution. Algeria, Vietnam, and South Africa are the exemplary cases in which it did. The United States, India, Morocco, and Tunisia are typical cases in which it did not.

Most of those who use the term “January 25 Revolution” refer to only one of these elements – the popular uprising of 25 January to 11 February 2011, when the occupation of Tahrir Square became not only the epicenter of Egyptian political life, but also a symbol inspiring popular protest throughout the Arab world and in far-flung locales like Madison, Wisconsin, New York, and even Tel-Aviv. However, the movement to depose Hosni Mubarak did not begin on 25 January 2011. It had several diverse points of origin: the labor movement of the 2000s involving thousands of strikes and other collective actions and millions of workers; the solidarity movements with the Palestinian and Iraqi people which, although focused on foreign policy issues, also raised slogans against the Mubarak regime; the increasing boldness of the non-governmental media from 2004 on; the Kifaya movement, which broke long-standing taboos by calling out President Hosni Mubarak and his son Gamal by name; the 2006 movement to defend the independence of the judiciary; statements and demonstrations of solidarity with the Tunisian people after the ouster of former president Zine El Abidine Ben Ali on 14 January 2011; and the “We are all Khaled Said” campaign, which initiated the call for demonstrations on 25 January 2011. 

Neither the organizers nor the participants in those demonstrations imagined that they were about to depose President Mubarak. The transformation of larger-than-average protests into a revolutionary upsurge occurred on Friday, 28 January 2011, when the Cairo headquarters of the former ruling National Democratic Party was torched – as clear a statement as any that the crowd understood who their enemies were. That act exemplifies Barrington Moore’s argument in Social Origins of Dictatorship and Democracy: Lord and Peasant in the Making of the Modern World, that in a revolution there comes a critical moment when people realize they have broken with the old order and “a…crime becomes the basis of a new legality” (p. 100).

The harmony between Muslims and Copts, the collaboration of Islamist and secularist youth, the broad participation of women without fear of sexual assault, the solidarity among Egyptians from diverse social classes, and the consensus around demands like “Bread, Freedom, and Social Justice” during the eighteen-day occupation of Tahrir Square suggested the outlines of a new Egyptian order. The practices of the occupation implied the equality of all citizens, respect for human rights, a new public role for women, and equitable distribution of the nation’s wealth. But that vision was snatched from the hands of the occupiers even before Hosni Mubarak was deposed.

First the “wise men,” who had played no role in initiating, organizing, or leading the occupation of Egypt’s urban squares, appointed themselves spokesmen for the movement. They were, for the most part, people who did not want a revolution, or in the case of Mohamed ElBaradei, who does want a democratic Egypt, had no idea how to organize one. Then, the United States intervened and signaled to the Egyptian military high command that the Barack Obama administration would accept the deposition of Mubarak and continue to provide the annual $1.3 billion in military aid as long as Egypt remained a force for stability in the Middle East and maintained its peace treaty with Israel. As far as I am aware, the details and definitive proof of this intervention are not available. But all the existing evidence indicates that something of this sort occurred. Finally, the Supreme Council of the Armed Forces (SCAF), a body with no constitutional political authority and led by Hosni Mubarak’s Defense Minister of twenty years, Mohamed Hussein Tantawi, proclaimed that President Mubarak had resigned and that it would assume power and oversee the transition to establishing an elected government.

Why would anyone imagine that such a maneuver constituted a revolution or the overthrow of the regime, as opposed to the replacement of an autocratic president with a military junta using the popular uprising to legitimate its rule? If there was any doubt, the constitutional referendum of 19 March 2011, and even more so the SCAF’s utterly undemocratic Constitutional Declaration of 30 March, should have made this obvious.

One of the most impressive and radical aspects of the occupation of Tahrir Square – its organization, largely by youth, on a non-hierarchical, horizontal, basis with little participation from the parties of the Mubarak era – may be part of the explanation. The revolutionaries did not have an organization or a program. A spontaneous popular movement can bring down an autocrat; it cannot construct a new political order. Another factor may be that after sixty years of autocracy and only the most limited possibilities for democratic participation in public life of any sort, few Egyptians had sufficient political knowledge and experience to outmaneuver the SCAF and the Muslim Brothers, who collaborated to contain the popular upsurge throughout 2011. A third factor may be the widespread misunderstanding of what constitutes a “revolution” based on the promiscuous use of the term for the events of 1919 and 23 July 1952.

The “army movement” of 23 July 1952 did not involve a popular uprising of any sort. If anything, it undercut and blocked the successive mobilizations of workers and students around both national and social issues that gathered momentum after World War II.

The land reform announced by the Revolutionary Command Council on 11 September 1952 is often considered the emblem of the new regime’s “revolutionary” nature. But this was not its intent. In the early 1950s, in response to the 1949 communist seizure of power in China, the United States viewed land reform as a prophylactic measure to prevent peasant revolutions. In Cairo, the U.S. embassy and CIA operatives urged the Free Officers to carry out a land reform. Egypt’s land reform entailed redistribution of only about fifteen percent of all cultivable land – a more modest redistribution than in Syria or Iraq. Land reforms in all these Arab socialist states were less radical than the resolutely pro-American, anti-communist dictatorships of South Korea (fifty-two percent of cultivable land redistributed) and Taiwan (about two-thirds of all tenant farmers received lands).

The land reform did eliminate the political power, and much of the economic power, of the 12,000 large land-owning families who dominated Egypt under the monarchy. But what Leonard Binder called “the second stratum” – families owning up to three hundred feddans – continued to occupy the positions of rural power they had consolidated in the mid-nineteenth century. As Timothy Mitchell noted in Rule of Experts, the notorious al-Fiqqi family of Kamshish exemplifies this class and the failure of Egyptian land reform to effect a rural revolution.

The lack of a popular uprising, the management of a limited land redistribution from above, and blocking the organization of an independent trade union federation were key elements in making the army movement of 23 July not a revolution, but an anti-democratic military coup that established a corporatist regime with populist social policies. The Nasser regime was similar to Peronism in Argentina or Mexico under Cárdenas and the PRI. The misunderstanding of 23 July 1952 as a “revolution” contributed to giving the army popular legitimation in 2011 that it did not deserve.

In 1919, there was a popular uprising. But the landed cotton-growing elites of the nineteenth century, who had benefitted from the British occupation, retained and even increased their power. Moreover, the aims of the popular uprising were not achieved. Britain continued to occupy the country and thwart the democratic will of the Egyptian people in alliance and competition with the monarchy it had installed--thus, no revolution.

The January 25 Revolution is not over. Rather, it has not yet occurred. There was a popular revolutionary upsurge that until now has been outmaneuvered by the military and the Muslim Brothers. There have been repeated popular upsurges – most recently the massive protests against President Mohamed Morsi’s anti-democratic constitutional declaration of 22 November 2012 and the new constitution – that have registered some successes and limited or rolled back regressive measures favored by the Brothers and the army.

The reconstruction of the centers of power of the Mubarak regime – the Ministry of Interior, the Ministry of Justice, the military and its economic privileges, and the business class (whether represented by Ahmad Ezz or Khairat al-Shater) that disproportionately benefits from IMF-sponsored neoliberal policies while the rest of the country is impoverished – remains on the political agenda for the future. The revolutionary forces have not proposed concrete programs to achieve gender equality, equal citizenship rights for Muslims and Christians, rehabilitation of the public health and public education systems, decentralize executive power, and empower elected local and provincial government. There is much to be done.

The Revolution Will Not Be Celebrated

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The common, seemingly benign question “where were you during the revolution” leaves most partisans of the January 25 Revolution with a strong sense of unease. While it is obvious that the question, whenever it comes up, is almost always posed in reference to the 2011 eighteen days of national protests that led to the end of Hosni Mubarak’s thirty-year rule, this innocent query fails to do justice to the belief that the revolution and the eighteen-day uprising are not one and the same. The phrasing of the question, moreover, proceeds on an assumption that the revolution ended with Mubarak’s departure, and that what followed was “politics as usual.” This assumption happens to coincide with a narrative that successive wielders of power have tried to sell to the Egyptian people over the past two years, namely one that purports that the revolution succeeded (and therefore “ended”) with Mubarak’s departure, and that dissenters need to vacate public squares and factories, and begin deferring to their “elders” among the politicians, the legislators, and the constitution writers. “Where were you during the revolution,” in other words, is a question that evokes our own fears about the counter-revolution and its efforts to build a popular consciousness that reduces the January 25 Revolution to an event of the past—one that warrants commemoration and celebration—and not a living phenomenon and an ongoing struggle that has ways to go. These concerns are heightened at a time when it has become acceptable in international media to call revolutionaries “anti-Morsi protesters” or “the secular opposition,” embracing the distortive view that the struggle for revolutionary change in Egypt has taken a backseat to ideological spats and partisan politics.

This is to say that partisans of the revolution in Egypt confront more than just a battle against the wielders of power as they continue to resist calls for transformative change, demands for social and economic rights, and efforts to create a meaningful social depth for the January 25 Revolution. They also face a serious battle against the hegemonic narrative that the days of revolution in Egypt are over, and that the country has re-entered into a state of normalcy in which contentious political action is no longer deemed socially or legally acceptable. Aware of the fact that the revolution’s biggest enemy today is the past tense, advocates of change in Egypt are refusing to celebrate the January 25 Revolution, and are taking to the streets and the squares to renew their commitment to “bread, freedom, and social justice”—the same words that brought the Egypt of Hosni Mubarak and Ahmad Ezz to its knees and that are seriously challenging the Egypt of Mohamed Morsi and Khairat El-Shater.

It is in this context that Jadaliyya uses the occasion of the two-year “anniversary” of January 25 to present a set of critical articles that take seriously what veteran labor activist Kamal Abu-Eita once said: “the January 25 Revolution did not start on 25 January and did not end on 11 February.” Capturing the spirit of the first part of that same quote, Paul Sedra highlights how the underlying realities and the events of the past two years in Egypt challenge historians to reassess the history of Egypt in light of the January 25 Revolution. He writes: “In much the way that the revolutions of 1968 inspired American historian Howard Zinn to write his People’s History of the United States– a history less concerned with statesmen than with slaves, soldiers, and suffragettes – the January 25 Revolution must yield a history of modern Egypt that examines the manifold ways in which Egyptians have defied the central authority that has, for centuries, sought to control them.” A military-centric history that posits 1952 and 1973 as Egypt’s milestones, and that does not grapple with 1919, 1968 and moments that brought to the fore popular struggles for change, is no longer appropriate, he says.

Situating Egypt’s current realities in the often-distorted meaning and history of revolutions, Joel Beinin argues that “the January 25 Revolution is not over. Rather, it has not yet occurred.” While resistance to the status quo has not waned, he observes, much is yet to be done to build a new Egypt that speaks to the type of change that lives up to the term “revolution.”

Aly El Raggal’s contribution (Arabic) brings to light one critical obstacle facing Egypt’s revolutionary struggle, namely the coercive apparatus inherited from the Mubarak era and that continues to adhere to the same repressive practices that arguably paved the way for anti-regime mobilization during the 2011 eighteen-day uprising. While revolutionary activists have thus far failed to force meaningful changes inside the security sector, El Raggal anticipates greater tension between the Muslim Brotherhood and security institutions in the future.

At a time when observers are carefully assessing the prospects for conflict between the Muslim Brotherhood-controlled presidency and entrenched powers inside the Egyptian state, most notably the military, Wael Eskandar explores the history of the Brotherhood’s relations with the wielders of power in Egypt. Eskandar’s contribution suggests that the emergent détente between military leaders and the Muslim Brotherhood speaks to a long history in which the group has consistently opted for accommodation rather than confrontation with the country’s power holders.

Also examining how the Muslim Brotherhood is managing its alliances and relations with important political actors after coming to power, Islam Abdel Bari’s article (Arabic) analyzes how recent developments within the Salafist camp, including defections from Al-Nour Party, could impact the Brotherhood’s competition with such groups.

As advocates of transformative change continue their struggle to build an Egypt in which equality and freedom transcend religious difference, Karim Malak examines the perennial dilemma of demographics when thinking about Copts in the modern Egyptian nation-state. The article offers valuable insights into how various powerful actors have exploited demographic statistics and numbers for political gains.

Underscoring the extent to which the January 25 Revolution has been transformed into a living struggle, Mona Abaza’s photo essay shows how the evolution of street art on Mohamed Mahmoud Street has mirrored a spirit of resistance and subversion that animates artistic expression in Egypt. She writes: “As long as Egypt’s wielders of power continue to undermine calls for revolutionary change in the country, the walls of Mohamed Mahmoud Street, and many others, will continue to offer an arena for the lively expression of political dissent and resistance. The dramaturgical performance that Mohamed Mahmoud Street is witnessing today will continue to unfold. The play is far from over.”

Another photo essay by Amro Ali attempts to use artwork from the streets of Alexandria to tell the story of the two years of revolution that Egypt has experienced thus far. “As we enter the second anniversary of the revolution,” he writes, “Egypt needs to find a way to tell the art scene, “It is ok to dream too high.”

The series of articles also feature a much-needed effort to reassess our understanding of the eighteen-day uprising and how it relates to the current state of the revolutionary struggle in Egypt. Arguing against the conventional narrative that presents the eighteen days as a primarily Cairene initiative based in Tahrir Square, Mahmoud Salah provides an important report (Arabic) that explains the crucial role played by the mobilization that occurred outside the capital in forcing Mubarak’s ouster. These insights could not be more relevant in our present day, when analyses on the state of revolutionary dissent in Egypt are overly focused on Cairo-based elites.

Jadaliyya is also featuring an exclusive interview (Arabic with English subtitles) conducted by Linda Herrera with Abdelrahman Mansour founding co-admin of “We Are All Khaled Said” Facebook page and the person who set the date of 25 January 2011 for the protests that sparked the Egyptian revolution. AbdelRahman, who has been almost entirely overlooked by international media, talks about what it means to be a youth leader in the age of social media, the pros and cons of anonymity, where he turns for new ideas, and the struggles involved in building a new Egypt.

All these contributions are united by a commitment to resist the “past tense” in assessing the January 25 Revolution and its significance. Such an effort mirrors the determination of many Egyptians to sideline calls for reducing the revolution to a distant memory to be celebrated and remembered. Today, 25 January, is an opportunity for partisans of the revolution to reflect on the sacrifices that many individuals have made in the name of a more just and humane social order, and to find strength in these sacrifices as they continue to push forward. Ask any of them “where were you during the revolution,” and they will answer you back with great confidence and conviction: “Right here, right now.”

Will Civil Marriage End Lebanon’s Confessional System?

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In tying the matrimonial knot last week, Kholoud Succariyeh and Nidal Darwish sliced through a cultural, legal, sectarian knot of Gordian proportions. The pair became the first couple in history to be wed in a civil marriage on Lebanese soil. Until last week, Lebanese citizens (or, only those who can afford it) have generally traveled to Cyprus to get hitched. The only way to do the deed inside Lebanon requires a contract issued by religious personal status authorities, with all the legal implications and bureaucratic entanglements that such a requirement presents.

The civil society group that facilitated the union—al-Markaz al-Madani li-al-Mubadara al-Wataniyya (The Civic Center for the National Initiative)—took advantage of a hitherto overlooked law from 1936 known as Decree No. 60, which was passed during the French Mandate. The law recognizes the political and administrative powers of the different confessional representatives, and stipulates that individuals are bound by the personal status laws of their sects.  

Attorney Talal al-Husseini–who is the principal architect of the civil society group’s strategy–told me last year that Decree No. 60 also states that if people do not belong to a particular sect, then they are subject to civil law, which—as it currently stands—does not exist for personal status issues in Lebanon.  “It does not mention which civil law that they are subject to, but it is clear that the current practice of disallowing civil marriage in Lebanon is a clear contravention of Decree no. 60 and the Lebanese Constitution itself,” al-Husseini said.

In 1936, of course, there were no Lebanese citizens who were not legal members of sects. This was because political representation in the Lebanese state was premised on the notion of social integration through sectarian affiliation, and yet the Decree still encountered heavy resistance from religious authorities—which, most notably, resulted in a exemption for Muslims—when it was introduced in 1936, precisely because “it provided for the enactment of a civil family law” (see George M. Dib, “Law and Population in Lebanon,” 11-12). As of a few years ago (and thanks to the dogged efforts of the same civil society group), it became possible in Lebanon to remove one’s sectarian affiliation from one’s government ID, thereby–in theory–extricating oneself from the personal status legal framework of a given confessional community. However, what this really means in practice is unclear. Since it became possible to “strike off” one’s sectarian identification (shatb al-ishara, as the process is called), the number of people who have actually done so is apparently quite small. This is not because the secularist movement does not have mainstream appeal in Lebanon, but probably because—let’s face it—who really wants to bother with a bureaucratic operation that has only symbolic value?

The civil marriage law, however, threatens to turn this symbolic operation into a highly pragmatic one. If all it takes to avoid the trip to Cyprus and have a civil marriage in Lebanon is to strike off one’s confessional identity–which does not amount to renouncing one’s sect, as activists hasten to add–then we may see more and more people doing it in the near future.  

The long-term implications of such a development could be very interesting. Lebanon’s politics are based, in a fundamental way, on the parsing of the country’s population into discrete confessional communities. What happens when we begin to see people transgress the boundaries of these communities in greater numbers? What happens if, five years from today, there are 150,000 people who do not belong–administratively speaking–to an official sect? How would such people run for political office under the current system? How would they get divorced and bequeath property to their children? Speaking of their children, what is their own administrative status? Might all of these uncertainties end up providing a disincentive to remove one’s confessional ID altogether? Stepping back, is there a case to be made for creating a “19th sect” (i.e., the secular sect) that has representation in Parliament? Alternatively, would it not make more sense to start taking seriously the long deferred problems of the confessional system altogether?

The current civil marriage debate brings all of these important questions to the fore, even if the status of Kholoud and Nidal’s marriage has been rejected by an advisory panel at the Ministry of Justice (Hay’at al-tashri’ wa-al-istisharat). Marwan Charbel, who is the interior minister–and, by the way, claims to be a supporter of enacting civil marriage in Lebanon–announced the decision, citing the fact that no Lebanese law exists to legislate this marriage as the basis of that rejection. While it may take a while to sort out the details of this particular marriage, there is no doubt that the Lebanese secularist movement has won a major, even if only symbolic, victory towards achieving its stated objectives.

If someone has the newlyweds' address, please send it to info@jadaliyya.com. I would like to buy them a gift.

First Jordanian Elections post Arab Uprisings; Challenges of Reporting from Syria

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This week, Amman-based activist and writer Hisham Bustani updates VOMENA on the first Jordanian parliamentary elections since the Arab uprisings, and what they mean for the country.

More than thirty journalists were killed in Syria in 2012 alone. Istanbul-based freelance journalist Justin Vela talks about the challenges and pitfalls of reporting from a Syrian warzone.

Protesting Is Not Enough

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Another January 25 marked the third year of continued protests in the hopes of finding our way to a successful revolution. On Friday, I joined the Shubra march to Tahrir Square where I saw many the familiar faces along with many other protesters once again.

This was not like last year’s march. This year there was certainly less energy and even less cohesiveness in the very long march that extended along Shubra’s streets. The street was laden with pockets of protesters. The pockets could be identified from a distance along the road by the endless density of flags. They were flags of 6 April Movement, Revolutionary Socialists, and the big white flags with the iconic faces of the martyrs of the ongoing revolution, including Emad Effat, Mina Danial, Jika, and now added to that list was Al Husseiny Abo Deif, the al-Fagr reporter who died in the Ittihadeya clashes last December.

The sentiment across Cairo, and perhaps across all of Egypt, is that protesting is no longer enough. Two years into the revolution and the prospects of bring about meaningful change through peaceful protests are slowly diminishing. With virtually every promise made by President Mohamed Morsi and the Muslim Brotherhood (MB) to the public or to opposition broken, it seems that dialogue is not yielding satisfactory results. The leaders of the National Salvation Front (NSF) set up by Mohamed ElBaradie, Amr Moussa and Hamdeen Sabbahi seem aware of this reality, but are unable or unwilling to take a more confrontational stance against the current regime, thus falling far behind a more radicalized street movement.

The list of broken promises is too long to review. One notable promise that the MB betrayed pertains to producing a constitution through consensus and an inclusive constituent assembly that represents all factions of Egyptian society. Broken promises and lies have been so widespread and flagrant that a popular campaign Kazeboon (Liars) was re-launched to expose the MB’s lies through street screenings organized by citizens, movements and parties.


[Leader of Federation of Independent Trade Unions Kamal Abu-Eita speaks to crowds participating in Shubra-Tahrir Square march on 25 January 2013. Photo by Wael Eskandar]

Disenchantment with the ruling party and the formal opposition is reminiscent of the Hosni Mubarak era. Yet this time around independent actors are more willing to take matters into their own hands and do something about it. That perhaps explains why the protesters were not as energetic as they used to be in their chants against Morsi, the MB’s rule and the constitution. The hopes are no longer riding on chants and marches. Instead, hope seems to be riding on groups willing to escalate and adopt more adventurous tactics, such as the Ultras who blocked the metro for a few hours last Wednesday, and later on the same day, the vital sixth of October bridge.

The Shubra march featured one group that has been the subject of interest for many protesters in Egypt in the past two days, namely the Black Bloc. The group is comprised of young protestors who cover their faces in ski masks or scarves. The Black Bloc released a statement identifying their purpose as standing up to the “fascist oppressors” the Muslim Brotherhood. They have also warned the Ministry of Interior not to get involved in the fight between the people and the Brotherhood. The group has no official presence on social media networks It is unclear whether they had a role to play in skirmishes between marchers and what appeared to be Muslim Brotherhood personnel near the Ikhwan Online offices in Tawfikeya. Rock throwing was exchanged between the two sides, but eventually the march proceeded normally.


[Black Bloc protesters in the march from Shubra to Tahrir on 25 January 2012. Photo by Wael Eskandar]

Absent from the protests was any presence by the Muslim Brotherhood, which remained largely silent about the protests. Similar to their predecessors among the Mubarakists, they seem to have left their political problems for the police to handle on the streets. When clashes ensued the police used more potent teargas this time, as if, as popular allegations go, ineffective teargas was the reason Mubarak was toppled. While in Tahrir Square the night of 24 January, the effects of the gas seemed more extreme than previous times I had experienced it, even though the canisters were often a long way off.

At some point in the afternoon, protesters made their way up the sixth of October bridge and blocked all traffic. Tahrir Square exhibited the usual duality in these types of situations, wherein the vast majority of the people stood in one area, leaving a select few at the front lines of confrontations with the police.


[Protesters set fire to tires near State TV building in Maspero on 25 January 2013. Photo by Wael Eskandar]

As we headed to the protests near the State TV building in Maspero security forces  fired at us excessive amounts of teargas, even though provocation was not apparent. The more they fired, the louder and more energetic the chants became.

Protesters’ tactics seems to have shifted towards direct action such as blocking vital means of transportation and occupying government buildings. There have also been talks of picking up arms, or at least investing in equipment that could serve to protect protesters from the brutal attacks of security forces. With the policing establishment inherited from the Mubarak era left unreformed, the vast majority of Egyptians believe that the police sole purpose is to serve the interests of the rulers rather than protect the innocent and uphold the law.

From the perspective of the regime, Tahrir Square seems to be the safest place for protests as it is not in the immediate vicinity of any of the vital buildings such as the Giza or Cairo governorate buildings, State TV, or parliament. More importantly, is far away from the main MB headquarters in Moqattam. The protesters’ fixation on Tahrir square in Cairo seems to be more of a setback than an advantage. Many protesters in other governorates, such as Mahalla, Ismailia and Suez, have already stormed government buildings and police stations. Cairo’s protesters are unable to follow suit due to heavy security presence and the location of Tahrir Square.

As the clashes continue, the Brotherhood and its supporters will continue to label their challengers hired thugs. For anyone on the ground, however, it is clear that these are not thugs, but revolutionary youth enraged by the feeling of being cheated out of the revolution they deserve.


حالة الإسلاميين في مصر بعد عامين على الثورة

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بالأرقام يمكن معرفة الحالة التي وصل إليها الإسلاميون في مصر بعد عامين على قيام الثورة. فقد وصل عدد الأحزاب التي تنطلق من خلفية إسلامية إلى حوالى عشرين حزباً سواء مسجلين أو غير مسجلين رسمياً. ناهيك عن عشرات التكتلات والحركات والشبكات التي تنتمي إلى التيار الإسلامي والتي تنشط بوضوح في المجال العام ولكنها لا تزال في مرحلة سيولة وليس لديها هيكل أو إطار تنظيمي أو حزبي محدد. فقد كانت الثورة المصرية بمثابة المفتاح الكبير الذي نزع القيود السياسية والأمنية عن التيار الإسلامي بمختلف أطيافه ودفع بقياداته وكوادره وشبابه إلى الساحة السياسية بعد أن ظل المشهد الإسلامي ساكناً وجامداً لثلاثة عقود ومحصوراً بين جماعة «الإخوان المسلمين» من جهة، والجماعات الجهادية والراديكالية من جهة أخرى.

وبعيداً عن لغة الأرقام، وهي دالة بحد ذاتها على مدى السيولة والتنوع في الساحة الإسلامية في مصر، فإن ثمة ملاحظات جوهرية حول حالة التيار الإسلامي في مصر بعد عامين من الثورة.

أولا: ثمة ميل شديد لدى المنتمين إلى التيار الإسلامي للانتقال من النشاط الديني إلى النشاط السياسي أو ما نسميه بالتسييس. وهو ما يمكن تفسيره بأكثر من سبب. فمن جهة يسعى الإسلاميون لضمان عدم إنتاج نظام معاد لهم ولأفكارهم وتوجهاتهم ومن هنا يبدو حرصهم الشديد على التواجد في كافة مجالات العمل السياسي. ومن جهة أخرى فإن ثمة محاولة للاستفادة من حالة الانفتاح التي خلفها الفراغ السياسي في مصر بعد حل الحزب المهيمن (الحزب الوطني الديموقراطي). ومن جهة ثالثة فإنها محاولة لزيادة «تديين» المجال العام ونقل الحمولة الأيديولوجية من المسجد إلى المؤسسات السياسية.

ثانياً: إن العلاقة بين الأحزاب والتيارات الإسلامية هي علاقة في حالة سيولة متغيّرة ومتقلبّة. وهي علاقة وإن كانت تأخذ أحياناً شكلاً تعاونياً إلا أن الصراع والتنافس هو الغالب عليها. وهو ما يؤكد أن ما يحدد هذه العلاقة هو المصالح السياسية وليست الأيديولوجيا. بل الأكثر من ذلك أن الأحزاب التي تنتمي لمرجعية إيديولوجية واحدة كالسلفيين تبدو في حالة صراع وتنافس شرس أكثر مما هي عليه بقية الأحزاب الإسلامية. ويكفي أن نعرف أن هناك أكثر من عشرة أحزاب سواء رسمية أو تحت التأسيس تنطلق من مرجعية سلفية. والمدهش أن كثيراً من القيادات السلفية لا ترى في مثل هذه الانقسامات ضرراً وإنما يعتبرها البعض علامة على النضج السياسي.

ثالثاً: إن الإسلاميين بمختلف تنويعاتهم الأيديولوجية والثيولوجية أكثر رغبة وحرصاً على الانخراط في السياسة الرسمية بدلاً من البقاء خارج أطر وقواعد اللعبة السياسية وذلك مقارنة بنظرائهم في التيارات الليبرالية والعلمانية. فعلى سبيل المثال هناك تفوق عددي وإن لم يكن بالضرورة نوعياً في الأحزاب الإسلامية التي تسعى بقوة للمنافسة على السلطة وملء فراغات المجال العام بكافة أشكاله ومؤسساته. وهو أمر يدعو للدهشة ويحمل كثيراً من المفارقات. فمن جهة لا يتمتع الإسلاميون خاصة غير الحزبيين منهم بنفس المهارات والقدرات السياسية التي تتوافر لدى نظرائهم الليبراليين والعلمانيين الذين تمتعوا بحرية نسبية في ظل النظام القديم. ومن جهة ثانية يبدو الإسلاميون أكثر حرصاً ولو شكلياً على قبول قواعد اللعبة السياسية واحترامها وإن كان ثمة خلل بنيوي في فهمهم لمسألة الديموقراطية واختزالها أحياناً في صندوق الانتخابات. ومن جهة أخيرة لدى الإسلاميين قدرة على التوافق والتحالف في مواجهة خصومهم وذلك مقارنة بغيرهم من القوى المدنية.

رابعاً: إن حالة التسييس قد انتقلت من الأحزاب والتيارات المنخرطة في العمل السياسي إلى تلك القيادات الدينية (مشايخ الدعوة) التي ظلت لعقود بمنأى عن السياسة. ولم يعد أحد معصوماً من أن ينال نصيبه من الجدال السياسي. ولربما تبدو لافتة ظاهرة الانقسامات التي طاولت المرجعيات الدينية للتيار السلفي أخيراً. فبعد انقسام حزب «النور» حدث انقسام داخل حاضنته ومرجعيته الأيديولوجية ممثلة في الدعوة السلفية. ويبدو أننا سوف نشهد مزيداً من الانقسام خلال الفترة المقبلة.

خامساً: كشفت خبرة العامين الماضيين مدى الانفصال بين شعارات وخطابات الإسلاميين من جهة ورؤاهم وسياساتهم العملية من جهة أخرى. وهو ما يعكس ضعف وربما انعدام الخبرة السياسية للإسلاميين بمن فيهم أولئك الذين يمارسون العمل العام منذ عقود. فعلى رغم وصول جماعة «الإخوان» إلى الحكم فإنها لا تزال حتى الآن عاجزة عن قيادة الدولة وإدارتها في شكل كفؤ وفعال. ودعك من الحديث الذرائعي عن المؤامرات ومحاولات الإفشال، وهو الذي كان يمكن وأده وإسكات المتحدثين به لو شعر الجميع أن ثمة رؤية حقيقية وبرامج واقعية لدى الرئيس مرسي وجماعته للتعاطي مع المشاكل اليومية والحياتية للمصريين. ويبدو تكرار مثل هذه الحجج بمثابة دليل ضعف وفشل أكثر من كونها حقيقة. وما هو واضح لكثيرين أنه لا «الإخوان» ولا الرئيس مرسي لديهم رغبة حقيقية في إنهاء نظام مبارك وإصلاح الدولة في شكل جذري وهيكلي وإنما مجرد استخدام الهيكل السلطوي القديم لترسيخ أقدامهم في السلطة.

سادساً: ثمة انكشاف وتراجع للمقولات الكلاسيكية التي يستند إليها خطاب الإسلاميين، كمقولات المشروع الإسلامي والدولة الإسلامية، ناهيك عن تواري الشعار الأثير «الإسلام هو الحل» وافتقاده الكثير من دلالاته وقوته الرمزية. وهو ما يعكس تراجعاً وتآكلاً في رأس المال الأيديولوجي والإقناعي لدى الإسلاميين. ولعل اللجوء الكثيف إلى شعار «تطبيق الشريعة» هو مجرد محاولة لإنقاذ صورة الإسلاميين لدى قواعدهم ولدى الجمهور، وأغلب الظن أنه سوف ينتهي إلى ما انتهت إليه بقية الشعارات والسرديات الكبرى. ويبدو لافتاً أنه على رغم حالة الانتعاش التي يعيشها التيار الإسلامي في مصر، إلا أن ذلك لم يصاحبه انتعاش فكري وثقافي للخطاب السياسي الإسلامي ومدى قدرته على مواكبة التطورات السريعة التي ولدتها الثورة. فمن جهة لم يحدث تجديد لأفكار وحجج هذا الخطاب والذي لا يزال يركن للرؤى والفتاوى التقليدية. بل قد لا نبالغ إذا قلنا بأن هناك تراجعاً وانتكاساً لهذا الخطاب ومدى قدرته على مجاراة حاجات المجتمع وتطوره. ويكفي أن نتابع القضايا والفتاوى الدينية الجدلية التي تملأ المجال العام كي نعرف حجم التراجع الذي أصاب هذا الخطاب. ومن جهة أخرى لم تبرز رموز إسلامية تنويرية يمكنها تجديد مفردات الخطاب الإسلامي ومرتكزاته. بل على العكس انطمست الرموز الإصلاحية التي كانت موجودة كي تحل محلها شخصيات ورموز سطحية «بهلوانية» تتبنى خطاباً إعلامياً ودينياً لا يليق بالرسالة التي من المفترض أن يحملها ويبشر بها هذا الخطاب وذلك على نحو ما تبثه بعض الفضائيات المحسوبة على التيار السلفي من ترهات وغثاء فكري مسموم تحت شعارات دينية.

سابعاً: سيطرة نزعة الغلبة والهيمنة على السلوك السياسي للإسلاميين. وهي نزعة تعكس ضعف فهم وإيمان الإسلاميين بالمسألة الديموقراطية. وهو أمر تكاد تتساوى فيه جماعة قديمة ومتمرسة كـ «الإخوان» (على رغم ادعائها طيلة العقدين الماضيين بعكس ذلك) مع الجماعات الحديثة كالسلفيين والجهاديين السابقين. وتبدو هذه النزعة مهيمنة ليس فقط على السلوك وإنما الخطاب. فقد حلت مفاهيم التمكين والاستخلاف والحاكمية محل مفاهيم المشاركة والتعددية والتعاون والتنوع والاختلاف... إلخ. وهي مصطلحات تترجم انتقال الإسلاميين من مرحلة الاستضعاف إلى القوة والتمكين، وتثير كثيراً من الشكوك حول مستقبل السلطة والحكم في مصر ومدى استعداد الإسلاميين لاحترام مبدأ تداول السلطة.

ثامناً: لا يزال الطلب الديني في مصر هو المحدد لصعود وهبوط التيار الإسلامي. وتبدو السوق الدينية في حالة رواج وانتعاش ولكنه يأتي على حساب المنتج (جودة الخطاب والمضمون والسلوك). وإذا استخدمنا نظرية «العرض والطلب» لتفسير منحنى صعود وهبوط التيار الديني في مصر لأمكننا القول بأريحية أنه على رغم زيادة الطلب على التدين، إلا أن المعروض يبدو أيضاً كثيراً، وهو ما يفسر تراجع المحتوى والمضمون الذي تقدمه الوسائط الإسلامية سواء السياسية أو الإعلامية. وإذا استمر هذا العرض في التزايد فإن إحدى النتائج المتوقعة له هي دفع قطاعات من المجتمع إلى النفور من التدين وربما إعادة التفكير في مسألة الدين ذاتها. ذلك أن الحضور الكثيف أحياناً للدين في كافة القضايا العامة والفردية بطريقة مفتعلة إملائية من شأنه تقليل جاذبية الفكرة الدينية. ولعل هذا يطرح تساؤلاً كبيراً لم تتم الإجابة عليه حتى الآن وهو: لماذا تبدو الإيديولوجية الدينية الأكثر رواجاً وانتشاراً وجاذبية في مصر على حساب الطروحات الأيديولوجية والفكرية الأخرى؟

وأخيراً، فإنه على رغم الحديث الكثير حول «الأسلمة» و «الأخونة» و «السلفنة» إلا أن ثمة حدوداً وقيوداً هيكلية لا تزال تعترض طريق الإسلاميين نحو إعادة صياغة الدولة والمجتمع والمجال العام على طريقتهم ومقاسهم. صحيح أن الممانعة لهذه المحاولات تبدو ضعيفة إلا أن عدم قدرة الإسلاميين أنفسهم على الإنجاز وحل المشاكل الهيكلية خاصة الاقتصادية والاجتماعية من شأنه وأد هذه المحاولات. بكلمات أخرى، فإن «التمكين» الذي يتحدث عنه الإسلاميون لن يأتي من خلال الخطب والشعارات مهما علا ضجيجها، وإنما من خلال سياسات وبرامج وحلول لمشاكل الجمهور الذي لم يعد يرحم أحداً.

[عن جريدة "الحياة" اللندنية ويعاد نشره بالإتفاق مع الكاتب]

The Meaning of Revolution: On Samira Ibrahim

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At that thin membrane, the hymen, narratives unfold and lives are determined. There, the binaries of the clean and the stained, the righteous and the debauched, the honorable and the shamed flourish. There the blurry border between the civilized and the backward, the liberated and the oppressed, the East and the West pretends to lie. There the claims to flesh as an evidentiary terrain stand.

For the last year and a half, one woman has chipped away at this edifice erected on her hymen. The task is larger than her. Yet whatever its outcome, her battle bares the force and the meaning of revolution.

Samira Ibrahim like hundreds of thousands of her compatriots reclaimed Tahrir Square on 25 January 2011. It would not be her first or last bid for freedom. 

On 26 January just a day after the spark of revolution had begun to spread, she was detained.

Dissidence and its costs were not new to her.

She came from a line of Islamists who paid dearly for their opposition to Hosni Mubarak.

In Middle School, state security interrogated her for slicing through the rhetoric that celebrated Arab armies and their so-called brave confrontation of Israeli occupation. 

But the trials in store were far beyond what these experiences could prepare her for.

She rejoiced along with millions when a popular uprising broke Mubarak’s thirty-year grip on Egypt.

But the revolution had cut authoritarianism only at its tip. The mutilation of the flesh had sown deep roots, roots the Supreme Council of Armed Forces (SCAF) would attempt to further embed during their ostensibly transitional military rule.

In March 2011, the day after International Women’s Day, when a demonstration for gender equality turned ugly, Samira along with hundreds of others took to Tahrir Square once again.

She, along with seventeen other women were handcuffed and dragged from Tahrir Square to the Cairo Museum. At that vault of historical treasures spanning 4,000 years, military officers beat, electrocuted, poured water on, and slapped the women’s faces with their shoes. They orchestrated a portrait of incrimination, coercing the women to pose alongside Molotov cocktails, presenting them as government thugs and prostitutes just as they told the revolutionaries: “You have ruined the country.”

These were the methods of the remnants of the former regime. The SCAF aimed to take on the guardianship of a revolution that they sought to destroy.

Samira wished for death. But she understood: “They were trying to make us regret.” To regret defiance. To regret revolution.

The women were held for several hours on a bus and later transported to the military prison, Haikstep.

Worn down by beating, scarred by electrocution, tired and hungry, Samira spotted a freshly printed poster of the deposed president. “We love Mubarak,” an officer explained.

She and the other women were then ordered to form two lines based on a semantic binary: “women” (without hymens) and “girls” (with hymens).

The “girls,” Samira among them, were stripped and taken to a separate room. There in full view of tens of officers who recorded the events on their phones, the military physician, Ahmed Adel conducted a series of “virginity tests.”

A general later explained to CNN: these women were “not like your daughter or mine” for they “had camped out in tents with male protestors.” The army had to protect itself: “[w]e didn’t want them to say we had sexually assaulted or raped them, so we wanted to prove that they weren’t virgins in the first place.”

According to this tautology: Ahmed Adel punctured Samira’s hymen to prove that it had (not) existed. For if it did not exist, and she was not a virgin, her rape would than be impossible. He raped her so that she could not claim that she was raped.

Samira resisted what was expected of her: to hide and cover herself in shame. She came forward, she detailed the brutalization, and she took the army to court.

Samira would see victory and defeat. In December 2011, a civilian judge ruled the practice of “virginity tests” illegal. Later in March 2012, a military tribunal acquitted Ahmed Adel of rape and charged him instead with “public indecency” and “disobeying military orders.” The court further concluded that the “virginity tests” had never been conducted in the first place.

That day of coercive penetration marked for Samira the end of the revolution. But her perseverance signals the beginning of a dramatic change.

Death, torture, and mutilation continue to be the inevitabilities of opposition to authoritarianism. Activists, scholars, and politicians struggle to understand what is driving Arabs from Tunis to Damascus to Qatif to take their lives in their hands and on to the streets. People had overcome the obstacle of fear, they concluded.

But it is not just the fear of mutilation that revolutionaries overcome; it is also the fear of public shame.

In March 2012, Samira walked out of the military court. Her face, always framed by a colorful headscarf, usually exuded the kind of strength reserved only for the very brave. That day it was contorted in pain. 

A woman rushed to her, admonishing: “Don’t cry, Don’t cry.” Samira’s followers understood the almost brutal plea. Her defeat would not be hers alone.

Samira Ibrahim did not claim the category of the Virgin as a sacred space of refuge. She did not fight her brutalization in the tired terms of honor and righteousness. She fought it on political grounds. She confronted the precipice at which her flesh and its openings had become the terrain of public scrutiny, and defying descent she decided instead to walk all over it.

Virgin? Girl? Woman?

Revolutionary.

The Gendered Body Public: Egypt, Sexual Violence and Revolution

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We must acknowledge, sit with, and address the sexual violence that has, is, and will occur in and around Tahrir Square. How do we do this work in a responsible and ethical manner that is in solidarity with Egypt's ongoing (and multiple) revolutions? How do we retain and respect political, economic and social complexity in the face of the horrors of mass and public sexual assault?

How to write when all you want to do is shout?

Friday 25 January 2013 was the second anniversary of the outbreak of the Egyptian revolution. Today the revolution continues, as protestors face down government allies and troops across Egypt. Bodies are bruised, bloodied, and killed. Rocks are thrown, bullets shot, and bottles broken. We are learning, once again, that violence is always plural and weighted differently. Those on the front lines, the frail, and the young are more vulnerable to that gas that burns eyes, those clubs that break bones, and those boots that kick flesh. Female protestors are also more vulnerable to the multiple violences of revolution, of protest, of repression. Women are more vulnerable to violence in times of peace and of stability, and no matter who is in power.

Female protestors have been beaten, dragged through streets, and shot at along with their brethren protestors. They have been imprisoned, disappeared, and repressed just as ruthlessly as their male comrades. They have been pinched, grabbed, and harassed by both regime supporters and their political allies at Tahrir. They have been stripped and they have been raped, in the offices of police and medical examiners, and in the spaces of the public. Their vaginas, anuses, and breasts, the very organs that mark them as women, have been targeted and violated by individuals and groups of men on every side of Egypt's political divide.

Sadly, this fact, that it is precisely the violence and rape of women that transgresses political divides, does not shock us.

The daily possibility of sexual harassment, assault, and repression forms, in large part, the female political subject(s) in the modern state era. Public assaults in Cairo, mass and public rapes in India,and the fact that every two minutes a woman is sexually assaulted in the US are only amplifications and spectacular examples of the sexual violence that women and girls face across the divides of nations, cultures, religions, and economic systems; in peace and in war.

It is sad but not surprising to note the silence on these gendered dynamics in the coverage of the second anniversary of the Egyptian revolution. It should be all too clear that Tahrir is a discriminately gendered space. But despite efforts to counter this trend, most analysis is deafeningly silent on the violence of this process.

By de-gendering Tahrir the square, the protestors, and the revolution itself is depoliticized. This is similarly the case across the uprising and upheavals in the Arab world and beyond. We cannot continue to deny that men and women and boys and girls face different assemblages of violence and vulnerability daily in the streets of Homs or in a Jordanian refugee camp. To de-gender the Syrian uprising is to depoliticize its costs, the people waging it and the tactics used by them and by the state. There is no universal, ungendered, unclassed, and anonymous protestor or body of protestors. And yet, writing about rape in Syria, sexual assault in Egypt is somehow a “social issue” and, shunted off to those boxes called “gender studies,” “women's issues,” or “social/cultural dynamics,” comfortably outside politics. We can no longer afford such comfort.

This comfort is unethical. It imposes analytical limitations on the very possibility of understanding the various ongoing struggles for transformative change we are witnessing today. It reinforces a long-standing reality in which agents of power appropriate, control, and limit struggles for gender equality by folding them in the residual categories of “women’s empowerment,” and “women’s participation.” This folding pretends to offer an easy solution to gender violence and inequality—that they will simply dissipate if more women were to exercise their right to vote or serve in parliament, for example.

In Egypt, it is this bifurcation of the “social” from the “political” that has allowed Mubarakists, officers, and Brothers, along with their regional and international allies, to set the terms of struggles for gender equality. Those terms—gender quotas for parliament and cabinet, family laws, and birth control—are silent on the dire need of meaningful social and political change. It is these false dichotomies between gender and politics, between the economic and the cultural that will continue to impede the very possibility of transformative revolution in Egypt and beyond.

It is not possible to write the political without beginning with plurality, without multivalent injuries, without bodies and the organs that mark them with difference by interconnected regimes of power. It is not possible to write the political without writing about the body; the body itself is both a medium and the primary target of modern politics and state intervention. Gender and sex are a product of this intervention and regulation of the body by the intersection of state, economic, historical and cultural practices. One cannot approach politics or revolution without a focus on the body. One cannot approach the body without thinking through sex and gender.

Analysts and journalists who write on the Syrian refugee crisis or Egyptian protestors who use the singular voice are making a choice. They choose to interpolate a universal that does not exist. This choice a political act. Is this singular voice due to ignorance, and if so, can we read ignorance as a political act? Is it even possible to write three dimensionally? And if it isn't, should we stop trying?

The urge to highlight one factor over another while thinking about sexual violence in a particular context is seductive: it is either culture, history, imperialism, or more generally, patriarchy. It is more difficult, and less conducive to action, to pause on ambiguity, contingency, and the ways these factors and others are woven (often tensely) together in each act of sexual violence—an intractable and constitutive aspect of political violence. Yet to simplify sexual violence—to consider it a woman's or social issue is to depoliticize it. To de-gender the uprisings is to depoliticize. It is to reproduce a unmarked universal - “the citizen” or “the protestor” - a mythical subject position that fails to capture the complexity of political life in an age of governmentality and biopolitics.

But is there a utility for this analysis when you just want to scream while reading about a female protestor stripped, violated and chased through the streets by male protestors, regime allies and onlookers in Tahrir Square, a place that has come to represent revolution, and revolutionary fervor, internationally?

 

*This article benifitted greatly from conversations with and insights from Hesham Sallam.

Palestinian Refugees in Jordan and the Revocation of Citizenship: An Interview with Anis F. Kassim

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[Anis F. Kassim is an international law expert and practicing lawyer in Jordan. He was a member of the Palestinian legal defense team before the International Court of Justice (ICJ) in the 2004 landmark case on Israel’s separation wall, and that led to the ICJ’s Advisory Opinion on the Legal Consequences of the Construction of a Wall in the Occupied Palestinian Territory.  The following interview was originally published by BADIL Resource Center for Palestinian Residency and Refugee Rights in their quarterly magazine al-Majdal.]

Hazem Jamjoum: What legal status was afforded Palestinians who came under Jordanian control after the 1948 Nakba?
 
Anis Kassim: On 19 May 1948, the Jordanian army entered the area of central Palestine that the Zionist forces were unable to occupy, and began the process of legally incorporating central Palestine into the Jordanian Kingdom. As part of this process, on 20 December 1949, the Jordanian Council of Ministries amended the 1928 Citizenship Law such that all Palestinians who took refuge in Jordan or who remained in the western areas controlled by Jordan at the time of the law’s entry into force, became full Jordanian citizens for all legal purposes. The law did not discriminate between Palestinian refugees displaced from the areas that Israel occupied in 1948 and those of the area that the Jordanian authorities renamed the “West Bank” in 1950.

On one hand, this citizenship was forced upon the Palestinians who did not really have much of a say in the matter. On the other, this was a welcome move because it saved those Palestinians the hardship of living without citizenship.
 
HJ: How was the process for the revocation of citizenship complex?
 
AK: First of all, I should note that the law itself has not been officially amended, so what I am about to describe is still what is officially in effect today. First of all, the Jordanian Constitution, adopted in 1952, states that citizenship is a matter to be regulated by a law, and the Jordanian Citizenship Law was indeed adopted in 1954 replacing that of 1928 and its amendment.. According to this law, it is possible to revoke the citizenship of a Jordanian citizen who is in the civil service of a foreign authority or government. The citizen must  be notified by the Jordanian government to leave that service and, if the citizen does not comply, the Council of Ministries is the body with the authority that is able to decide to revoke his citizenship. Even if the Council does decide to revoke the citizenship, this decision must then be ratified by the King, and even then, the citizen whose citizenship was revoked has the right to challenge the Council of Ministries’ decision in the Jordanian High Court, and it is this court’s decision that is binding and final. These procedures are being completely ignored when the citizenship of a Jordanian of Palestinian origin is revoked.
 
HJ: Did the status of Palestinians in Jordan change after the 1967 War with the Israeli occupation of the West Bank?
 
AK: No. their status remained as Jordanian citizens.
 
HJ: When did the differentiation between Palestinian citizens of Jordan begin? 
 
AK: Today we can speak of five kinds of Palestinian citizens of Jordan. The first differentiation came in the early 1980s when the Jordanian government was concerned that Israeli policies and practices aimed to squeeze out the Palestinian inhabitants of the occupied West Bank; to empty out the Palestinian territories to replace them with Jewish settlers. The Jordanian government then created the first real differentiation between its Palestinian citizens by issuing differentiated cards.
 
Those who lived habitually in the West Bank were issued green cards, while those who habitually lived in Jordan but had material and/or family connections in the West Bank were issued yellow cards. The sole purpose of these cards at the time was so that the Jordanian authorities at the King Hussein (Allenby) Bridge—the only crossing point between Jordan and the occupied West Bank—could monitor the movement of these card holders, enabling the Jordanian authorities to know how many Palestinian West Bankers had crossed into Jordan, and to ensure that they returned, essentially a kind of statistical device. Indeed, this was a wise policy in terms of countering the Zionist plans to continue the ethnic cleansing of Palestine.
The major turning point came with the Jordanian disengagement (fak al-irtibat) from the West Bank on 31 July 1988.
 
HJ: What was the disengagement?
 
AK: Since 1948 when central Palestine came under Jordanian control, the Jordanian government has claimed the West Bank as part of the kingdom. By 1988, the Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO) had come to be recognized on an Arab and, to some extent, international level as the sole legitimate representative of the Palestinian people, but the Israelis and Americans were still refusing to recognize the PLO, let alone to officially communicate with it. Jordan’s King Hussein shrewdly took the decision to disengage from the West Bank as a message to the United States and Israel that if they were going to negotiate with anyone over the fate of Palestinians in the West Bank, it should be with the PLO. In the famous speech he delivered on 31 July 1988 [1] in which he declared the disengagement—and we have to remember that this was during the most intense period of the first Intifada— King Hussein stated that the purpose of the disengagement was to support the Palestinians’ struggle for self determination by relinquishing his claim to that territory.
 
HJ: How was the disengagement a “turning point” for Palestinians’ status as Jordanian citizens?
 
AK: When the disengagement was declared, the color of the cards (yellow and green), that had been used as a statistical device, became the criteria for determining the citizenship status of a citizen. The government issued instructions to the effect that those who habitually lived in the West Bank, that is green card holders, on 31 July 1988 were “Palestinian citizens,” while those who were living in Jordan or abroad were Jordanian. Put another way, over one-and-a-half million Palestinians went to bed on 31 July 1988 as Jordanian citizens, and woke up on 1 August 1988 as stateless persons.
 
HJ: You previously mentioned that we can speak of five kinds of Palestinian citizens of Jordan. What are the different kinds of status among Palestinians citizen of Jordan currently?
 
AK: The first category we can call hyphenated Palestinian-Jordanians. These are Palestinians who were in Jordan on the date of the disengagement with no material connection to the West Bank or Gaza Strip, or who were Jordanian citizenship holders abroad. These are regarded as Jordanians for all legal purposes.
 
The Palestinians in the second category are the green card holders whose citizenship was revoked by the government orders that I described earlier.
 
The Palestinians in the third category are the yellow card holders, who kept their citizenship after the disengagement, but many of whom have more recently faced the revocation of their Jordanian citizenship rights.
 
The fourth category is that of blue card holders. These are 1967 Palestinians refugees from the occupied Gaza Strip who are in Jordan and who were never given citizenship rights. They are in a very miserable position because, since they are not Jordanian, they cannot enjoy any of the benefits of citizenship in this country: they cannot access public schools or health services, they cannot get driving licenses, they cannot open bank accounts, or purchase land. They are mostly concentrated in the refugee camps in the Jerash area, specifically the one called “Gaza Refugee Camp” which is generally known as the worst of the refugee camps in Jordan in terms of living conditions. To build a tiny house in the camp, they need to get several permits from several government departments. While they receive some modest support from UNRWA, any support that comes from the rest of the society has to be approved by Jordanian security authorities.
 
The fifth, and newest, of the categories is that of Jerusalem residents. These have always been a special case: the Israelis consider them permanent residents of Israel without any citizenship rights, while for Jordan they are citizens whose status was not affected by the disengagement. The problem now is that the Israelis, as part of their ongoing ethnic cleansing project, are revoking the residency rights of Palestinians in Jerusalem who cannot prove that their “center of life” is in that city, to use the terms of the Israeli High Court. The Jordanian government has yet to officially take a position on the Jordanian citizenship rights of these Jerusalemite Palestinian citizens of Jordan whose residency in Jerusalem has been revoked by Israel. This is now another emerging problem.
 
HJ: You mentioned that yellow card holders have been facing the revocation of their Jordanian citizenship in recent years. Can you expand on this?
 
AK: The main institution that handles this issue is the Follow-up and Inspection Department (al-mutaba’a wa al-taftish) of the Jordanian Ministry of Interior. To understand what’s happening you need to understand that the way Jordanian citizenship works since 1992 is that every citizen must have a “national number” (raqam watani). Anyone who does not have this number is not a citizen.
 
In recent years, the Follow-up and Inspection Department has been expanding on the scope of its authority in interpreting the 1988 government regulations dealing with the revocation of Palestinians’ Jordanian citizenship. We need to keep in mind also that these regulations were never made public, and that in fact no policy, let alone law, dealing with the revocation of Palestinians’ citizenship in Jordan has ever officially been made public. Originally, as I described, 31 July 1988 was treated as a cut-off date, if you were a green card holder in the West Bank, your citizenship was revoked, and otherwise you remained a citizen. The Department has since expanded to the revocation of citizenship from others under other pretexts.
 
For instance, many Palestinian citizens of Jordan were able to acquire Israeli-issued West Bank residency permits through such procedures as family-reunification since 1967. Of course, part of Israel’s ethnic cleansing policies manifested as revocation of West Bank residency permits over the years under various pretexts. For example, at one point West Bank residency permit holders who were away from the West Bank for more than three years had their residency revoked by the Israelis. The Follow-up and Inspection Department of the Jordanian Interior Ministry has revoked national numbers (i.e. citizenship) from many Palestinians who had their West Bank residency permits revoked by the Israelis under the pretext that these people should have kept these residency permits, and that the Palestinian should go and get the Israelis to reissue them their West Bank residency permits.
 
Another example is that of PLO or Palestinian Authority (PA) employees. Even though a Jordanian citizen can work for any other government, many Palestinian citizens of Jordan who have taken jobs in PA institutions have been stripped of their national numbers. A more recent example is that of the Jordanian parliamentary elections [November 2010]. Many of the Palestinians who went to register as voters were sent to the Follow-up and Inspection Department where they had their national numbers revoked.
 
Ultimately, however, it is difficult to discern a particular logic to the post-1988 revocations. In some cases, one person or group within the family has their citizenship revoked, while others in the same family remain citizens. With regards to employment in the PLO or PA, there are PA parliamentarians and ministers with Jordanian national numbers, while some Palestinian citizens of Jordan, for example, have had their citizenship revoked for working for a PA-owned Company or civil institution. We can only say that so far it seems very arbitrary. I should also add that this wave of citizenship revocation means that yellow card holders live with the perpetual fear of any interaction with the government bureaucracy, since this could result in being sent to the Follow-up and Inspection Department and having their citizenship revoked.
 
HJ: Is there a way to know how many Palestinians have had their Jordanian citizenship revoked since 1988?
 
AK: No, these numbers are kept secret by the Jordanian Ministry of Interior and are not made public. There are various estimates, but these numbers vary. The most well-known of these is that of the Human Rights Watch report that stated that over 2700 Palestinians citizens of Jordan had their citizenship revoked between 2004 and 2008, but this number is based on a journalistic article in a Jordanian newspaper, and so, in addition to not giving information on the years before or after the period, are not to be taken as authoritative.
 
HJ: What is the effect of the revocation of citizenship on the people involved?
 
AK: They become like the blue-card holders from the Gaza Strip that I talked about before without the ability to access any government services, open bank accounts, etc. It should be mentioned though that there is a potentially very dangerous situation for Jordan; if this trend continues it will become a “ghetto state.” When you forfeit a Jordanian’s citizenship and keep him in Jordan because you don’t have the power to send him to Palestine—because the Israelis of course refuse—you will end up with over a million stateless Palestinians within your borders, and who have nowhere to go.
 
HJ: Earlier you described the Jordanian law of citizenship and the various levels of government and judiciary through which the revocation of citizenship must pass to become final. Can Palestinians who have had their Jordanian citizenship revoked make use of what you described as an advanced citizenship law to challenge the Follow-up and Inspection Department’s actions?
 
AK: As I described above, there is no question that the revocations of citizenship that the Jordanian authorities have carried out since 1988 contradict the written law and indeed the constitution. Under the law, the revocation of citizenship must follow the procedures I spoke about earlier, and are not the subject to such things as the color of your card or regulations. As it stands, however, a junior officer of the Follow-up and Inspection Department can decide the fate of a citizen’s citizenship rights. It is now a more simple matter to revoke a yellow card-carrying citizen from his citizenship than it is to revoke their driving license! With the revocation of a driving license, the citizen has the right to challenge the revocation in a court. The Inspection and Follow-up Department is indeed the only government department that is not subject to judicial review.
 
The government justifies this by stating that the revocation of citizenship by this Department is an “act of state.” There is one judge, Justice Farouq Kilani, who was president of the Jordanian High Court of Justice who did challenge the government’s position, and stated that citizenship is a matter regulated by law and not regulations, and that therefore the actions of the Department are null and void. As a result of his ruling—this was in 1998—the Minister of Justice demanded his resignation, and Kilani resigned. He subsequently gave two public lectures on the topic, and wrote a book called Independence of the Judiciary, an excellent treatise in which he describes in detail both his landmark ruling and his encounter with the Justice Minister. His ruling was very correct, constitutionally sound and legally unchallenged. The Jordanian judiciary has a long tradition of reviewing administrative decisions, including decisions involving citizenship. As it stands now, the situation in Jordan is very suffocating on this issue of citizenship revocation because there is no right to appeal since the government treats these decisions as “acts of state,” and it is practically impossible to take these issues to an international court.
 
It is also important to mention that there is no refugee law in Jordan. As such, once the citizenship is revoked, the Palestinian refugee is left with no political, civil or economic rights.
 
HJ: Besides the position that citizenship revocation is an “act of state,” how does the Jordanian government justify stripping its Palestinian citizens of their citizenship rights and rendering them stateless?
 
AK: There have been several justifications or excuses given. Jordanian officials maintain, for example, that the revocations are designed to force Palestinians to stay in Palestine, to stop the Zionist leadership from implementing its ethnic cleansing project. This argument is usually framed within the paradigm of the “alternative homeland” project, the Israeli right-wing’s position that Palestinians have a homeland, and this homeland is Jordan. We do not debate the importance of these goals, and of full-fledged rejection of the “alternative homeland” project on all fronts. Mixing this in with the issue of Palestinian citizenship rights in Jordan is like mixing apples and pears. The “alternative homeland” is a national issue, and thus should not be treated solely at the Jordanian level, but through Jordanian-Palestinian-Arab coordination as an Arab summit item. Such a political issue should not and cannot be mixed with a human rights issue such as the rights of Palestinian citizens of Jordan. Moreover, the people who are fighting the “alternative homeland” project are the Palestinians themselves who have fought it with their own bodies in these decades of spilled Palestinian blood. Actually, if Jordanian officials are sincere about their political position, they should take more credible action against the Israelis to force them to leave the Palestinians in peace and to allow the refugees to return, as is their internationally recognized right.
 
Furthermore, as a sovereign state, the Jordanian government could have taken steps during the negotiation of the Wadi Araba Israeli-Jordanian peace settlement to insist on such things as allowing Jordanian citizens to maintain their West Bank residency permits, and to restore those that had been stripped. As it stands now, the Jordanian government does not have the power to push for such a residency permit to be issued to an individual, and so by stripping them of their Jordanian citizenship, these individuals are left stranded with nowhere to go. But also as it stands, the Jordanian government can stop security coordination with Israel, and can stop the marketing of Israeli products in Jordan. Lately, the Jordanian Ministry of Industry has allowed the entry of 2500 types of Israeli products into the Jordanian market.
 
Another justification that Jordanian officials forward is that they are not revoking citizenship, rather they are “correcting the situation” of certain individuals who were wrongly classified, that all they are doing is simply dropping the national number. “Correcting the situation” is the new catch-phrase you see. They say this to avoid contradiction of the Follow-up and Inspection Department’s actions with the law and constitution, but the fact remains that simply dropping the national number is in effect the total revocation of citizenship.
 
HJ: Do you see any way that this situation can be reversed?
 
AK: The January 2010 report of Human Rights Watch [2] about the citizenship revocation raised some awareness both locally, on an Arab level as well as internationally, but this was short-lived and has not alleviated the situation. This issue requires an international campaign of human rights organizations because there is no venue left to air your grievances. Ultimately, the situation would best be alleviated by addressing the root-cause of the situation of these Palestinians, which is the implementation of Palestinians’ right to return to the lands from which they were displaced. Until then however, more attention needs to be given to this thus-far largely-ignored issue, and the Jordanian laws and constitution need to be respected and implemented by restoring the citizenship of those whose rights were revoked, and ensuring that the law is followed in any future case of citizenship revocation.

_______________________

[1] See the text of the speech at: http://www.kinghussein.gov.jo/88_july31.html

[2] Human Rights Watch, “Stateless Again: Palestinian-Origin Jordanians Deprived of their Nationality,” Human, January 2010: http://www.hrw.org/node/87906

 

Last Week on Jadaliyya (Jan 21-27)

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