[LETTER FROM CAIRO]
I was there on the third anniversary of Egypt’s revolution, as thousands of Egyptians flocked to Tahrir Square, homemade flags and faded banners in hand. Faces, bright and shining from excitement and the hot desert sun, were decorated with cheap, flaking paint, the words “Al-Sisi” hastily scrawled across their foreheads. As I look through the indistinguishable flashes of red, white, and black, I realize that the square is as packed as it was three years prior. The deafening chants convinced me that I was among those who fought, and continue to fight, for Egypt’s ever-elusive government reform.
This time, however, the people are cheering for Field Marshal and Minister of Defense Abdel Fatah Al-Sisi, the newest in Egypt’s line of military rulers. It astounds me that these people, most of them the same impassioned rioters who risked life and limb to topple the military-backed Hosni Mubarak in early 2011, are now equally willing to install his armed forces comrade as a legitimate ruler.
Meanwhile, two streets down, violent clashes ensue on Ramses Street, as anti-coup students and demonstrators, supporters of both the Muslim Brotherhood and the nascent Revolution Front which aims at “attaining social justice” and ending a “repressive regime,” protest the ouster of former president Mohamed Morsi. Avoiding the holes in the ground from where students tore out inlaid bricks, (their weapon of choice against Central Security Forces,) I walk briskly past the surreal setting, nostrils tingling from the all-too-familiar tear gas.
It is as if the beige armored personnel carriers blocking off Ramses from Tahrir mark the border between two completely different lands: freedom and patriotism on one side, frustration and repression on the other. Men, women, and children in the ecstatic throngs in Tahrir were oblivious to the belligerent yelling and protesting just fifty meters down the Nile, their own patriotic chanting drowning out the sharp cracks of birdshot rifles. White taxis blaring a 1950s military anthem carried cheerful onlookers to the square, passing black military carriers containing dozens of detained students headed in the opposite direction. For some, Egypt’s future looked as bright as the sky above. For others, it seemed to dim to the pitch-black walls around them.
Egypt’s future has never been so contradictory. How did the armed forces end up back in power, even after students and civilians alike toppled what was thought to be the last military ruler early in 2011? Unfortunately for Egyptians, the military and its faithful leader are not the same as the one before the January 25 revolution—they are smarter, stronger, and more unforgiving. Even worse, the military has overcome its worst days, weathering everything from international criticism to scathing media coverage to the raw, violent emotion of the people. The prospect of Egypt’s revived military state now remains as dangerous as ever, its clampdowns starkly more brutal so as to not repeat mistakes of the past.
Rolling with the punches
The beginning of the Arab Spring in Tunisia meant trouble for Egypt’s longstanding military dictatorship, and the Supreme Council of Armed Forces (SCAF) knew that they were preparing for a storm. Initial outcries and protests on January 25, 2011 escalated to a surge of violence on January 28, during which civilians burned down Mubarak’s National Democratic Party’s headquarters in downtown Cairo. Seeing Mubarak as a lightning rod for civilian frustration, the military knew that any current repressive measures, in the context of the volatile Arab Spring, would simply be met with more protests and overpowering international criticism. Instead, they cast away their leader, hoping to ride the wave of civilian discontent instead of bracing it full-on.
On January 28, armed forces refused to fire upon protesters in what civilians blindly believed to be a move of generosity, unable, in the fervor of the moment, to reflect on past incidences in which the same military had quashed dissent at any and all costs. Civilians embraced their gracious defenders, looking to them for stability and reconstruction. In one deft move, the military had gone from aligning itself with the oppressive dictatorship to altering its dictatorial image—and the course of Egypt’s history—for decades to come. Egypt’s military, it seemed, would be loved, at least temporarily.
On February 10, 2011, Egypt’s SCAF met for the first time without its erstwhile chairman, now-ousted Hosni Mubarak. In its first statement following the fray, the council assured that it would remain in session indefinitely “to ensure the protection of the people and nation.” Thousands continued to take to the street, but now protesters were differentiated between Mubarak and his SCAF backers, claiming that the former was evil while the latter heroic. Following Mubarak’s resignation, the SCAF solidified its role in the new regime: whereas it had previously only convened at the president’s request to provide advice on military matters, it now plunged into the largely autonomous and unregulated role of running the country and shaping Egypt’s critical transition post-revolution.
It wasn’t time yet for the military to reinstate its overt stranglehold on Egyptian politics. With millions still left bruised from Mubarak’s steel-handed regime, SCAF’s advisors knew the military needed to bide its time for the right moment. Until then, it would just have to wait.
In broken Arabic, I ask the smiling middle-aged man sitting next to me along Tahrir Square’s circular railing about the military, or “gaish”, and how he feels about its ability to rule the nation. “The military protects and loves us, and has done so for more than fifty years,” the man, named Amr, tells me.
“Right now, Egypt is unstable because of the Brotherhood,” Amr says, a sudden look of sternness flashing across his face. “Al-Sisi will put all of the terrorists in jail, and will hunt after every single person who supports the Brotherhood. They, including the Americans who have told them to create chaos in our great country, will all face imprisonment and death.”
At this point, his quiet satisfaction returns, and he offers me a cigarette.