Egypt finds itself in a disconcerting position, caught in a seemingly endless transitional phase, adrift between its past and an uncertain future. Three years prior, the fervor of the Arab Spring saw hundreds of thousands of Egyptians rise up, challenging Hosni Mubarak’s three-decade authoritarian grip. Those three weeks of intense protest culminated in the Egyptian army’s removal of Mubarak. This pivotal moment, however, was not the end of the story, but rather the beginning of a new verse in a song that seems stuck on repeat.
The promise of democracy followed, with elections bringing the Muslim Brotherhood’s candidate, Mohammed Morsi, to power. Yet, this democratic dawn proved fleeting. Morsi’s attempts to consolidate dictatorial authority, attempting to shield his decisions from judicial review, ignited further unrest. Echoing the earlier uprising, massive demonstrations erupted again this past July. Once more, the military intervened, ousting Morsi and stepping into the power vacuum. While an interim president holds office, the true authority, for the moment, rests with the defense minister and head of the armed forces, General Abdel Fattah al-Sisi. He is widely perceived as the de facto leader, steering the nation towards a new constitution and fresh elections – a cycle that feels increasingly like a broken record, playing the same notes of hope and disappointment. A recent referendum on constitutional amendments, according to official Egyptian news, passed with a resounding 95% approval.
To understand the lived reality of this political limbo, we turn to Sarah Carr, a Cairo-based reporter and blogger. With an Egyptian mother and British father, and having lived in Egypt for over a decade, Carr offers a unique perspective. Her reports for an independent English-language news site in Egypt and her blog, Inanities.org, are recognized for providing insightful commentary on the country’s unfolding drama. We asked her to share her experiences of living in a nation seemingly stuck in the middle of its own political song.
Sarah Carr
The summer months were a blur of frantic Facebook updates, a digital battleground where Egyptians clashed in impassioned statuses and furious comments as the nation teetered on the edge. This online conflict reached fever pitch after June 30th, the day masses of Egyptians took to the streets demanding President Mohammed Morsi’s removal. Following Morsi’s ousting, celebratory army jets painted the sky with smoke trails forming heart shapes. A friend wryly observed that these hearts bore a striking resemblance to buttocks – a sentiment that resonated with the absurd and often surreal nature of the unfolding events.
In the aftermath of Morsi’s removal on July 3rd, much of my energy was spent in online debates, attempting to articulate a nuanced position. While firmly believing that Morsi and his Muslim Brotherhood associates should not face extreme, extrajudicial punishments, this stance was immediately interpreted by some as evidence of treachery, of being a secret sympathizer. Egypt, it seemed, had succumbed to the simplistic “us or them” dichotomy, a common feature in societies under immense pressure. One relative dismissed my views, suggesting that my upbringing abroad disqualified me from grasping the “complexities” of the situation. Another sent a barrage of links to outlandish websites “proving” Barack Obama’s secret Muslim Brotherhood membership and Morsi’s presidency as a US-Zionist conspiracy against Egypt. The level of discourse had descended into the realm of the irrational, fueled by fear and misinformation.
A Christian Egyptian friend faced even greater challenges, dedicating countless hours to explaining to his Facebook network that disagreeing with the Muslim Brotherhood’s ideology did not equate to dehumanizing its members. He insisted on the fundamental right to due process and fair trials for all, including those associated with the Brotherhood – a position that, in the charged atmosphere, was often met with hostility and suspicion.
Political transitions, ideally, should signify forward momentum. Egypt’s, however, has become a dizzying loop of hope and disappointment, a series of beginnings that feel like endings, never truly progressing beyond a state of perpetual flux. The thirty-year Mubarak era gave way to seventeen months of military rule, followed by Morsi’s brief year-long presidency, only to find Egypt back under military control. The cycle restarts, the song plays again from the beginning, stuck in the middle verses.
Following Morsi’s removal, a concerted campaign, spearheaded by the army and amplified by the media, sought to convince Egyptians of an existential threat looming over the nation. While insurgent activity in the Sinai Peninsula had persisted since 2011, and sporadic bombings had occurred, along with ongoing clashes with Muslim Brotherhood supporters staging sit-ins in Cairo, these disparate elements were deliberately conflated.
Television presenters, once content with labeling Muslim Brotherhood supporters as “disease-ridden lunatics,” escalated their rhetoric, branding them as “terrorists.” The government swiftly blamed the Brotherhood for a bombing in Mansoura that claimed sixteen lives, officially designating them a terrorist organization and promising harsh prison sentences for its members – despite the Brotherhood’s public condemnation of the attack. The narrative was being carefully constructed, painting a picture of a nation under siege, justifying increasingly authoritarian measures.
The “war,” if it can be called that, has become inseparable from the propaganda machine supporting it. Egyptian television now bombards viewers with images of women in patriotic red, white, and black attire, serenading the armed forces with declarations of unwavering love, set against stock footage of military exercises and rockets launching towards ambiguous destinations – perhaps, symbolically, towards the Al Jazeera headquarters. Al Jazeera, perceived as a Brotherhood mouthpiece, has become public enemy number one. This animosity culminated in the arrest of four Al Jazeera English journalists in late December, charged with disseminating false information detrimental to state security and collaborating with a terrorist organization. Their alleged crime? Interviewing Muslim Brotherhood members in a Cairo hotel. The crackdown on dissent was intensifying, and the media landscape was becoming increasingly monolithic.
The police force, once widely reviled as corrupt and brutal, has undergone a remarkable image rehabilitation, a “Robert Downey, Jr. style comeback,” despite no fundamental reforms within an institution still riddled with corruption and abuse. They have resumed their old tactics: kidnapping activists, holding them for hours incommunicado before abandoning them in the desert, and engaging in assault and torture of detainees – acting as the military regime’s enforcers. In August, their brutal dispersal of the Rabaa al-Adawiya Muslim Brotherhood protest resulted in the deaths of hundreds. Weeks later, a statue honoring the police, the armed forces, and “the people” was erected at the very site of the massacre – a chilling display of impunity and a rewriting of history.
Any dissenting voices, any murmur of public protest, were drowned out by the cacophony of celebration – the popping of party poppers, the cheers of the crowds, and the ubiquitous army tribute pop song, “God Bless the Hands.”
[MUSIC – “GOD BLESS THE HANDS”]
This song, ironically, has become a popular choice at wedding parties, its martial rhythm now associated with joyous occasions, a jarring juxtaposition of celebration and repression.
This widespread endorsement of a harsh crackdown reveals a genuine public appetite for authoritarianism. To some extent, this is understandable. A prevailing sentiment exists that the Brotherhood’s rule was leading the country towards collapse, and the army’s intervention was a necessary rescue. New legislation now prohibits public demonstrations of ten or more people without prior police authorization, effectively dismantling the very freedoms fought for during the revolution. Many Egyptians, weary of instability and chaos, are welcoming this return to order, regardless of the cost to democratic principles.
However, the media has played a crucial role in fueling the anti-Brotherhood hysteria, disseminating unsubstantiated rumors of shadowy foreign elements plotting Egypt’s downfall, accusing youth activists of being American agents, and alleging Brotherhood members are taking orders from Qatar. This manufactured narrative has spiraled out of control. The year 2014 began with the absurd news that the public prosecutor was launching an investigation into whether a Vodafone mobile phone advertisement, featuring a popular glove puppet, contained secret coded Brotherhood messages. The level of paranoia and manufactured consent had reached new heights.
General Sisi, the head of the army, currently enjoys untouchable status, his relationship with the Egyptian public bordering on adulation. His recent hint about potentially running for president – “when Egyptians say something, we obey. And I will never turn my back on Egypt” – was met with enthusiastic support.
Last month, a leaked audio recording, purportedly an interview with Sisi, offered a glimpse into a more bizarre dimension. When questioned about presidential ambitions, Sisi responded by recounting dreams involving Omega watches, a sword inscribed with “there is no god but God,” and assassinated president Anwar Sadat speaking to him. Despite the unsettling nature of these revelations, his popularity remained seemingly unaffected.
And so, the loop continues, the song stuck in the middle plays on. Just this past week, Egyptians voted in a referendum on a new constitution – the third such vote in three years. January 25th, Tahrir Square, the epicenter of the revolution and its aspirations, feels like a distant memory, now confined to prison walls and fading graffiti on downtown Cairo buildings. I recall January 29th, 2011, wandering through downtown Cairo, amidst the smoldering wreckage of police cars, young men scrawling graffiti declaring the end of Mubarak’s reign. For a fleeting moment, the streets, once controlled by the Interior Ministry and its vast network of informants, belonged to us.
Then, this past November, I was at a demonstration that was swiftly and efficiently dispersed by the police. Using a crude water cannon – essentially a large hose – they drenched protesters before charging with batons. Within ten minutes, it was over, leaving behind only wet pavement as evidence of the brief moment of dissent. If not for the water, you would hardly know anything had happened. The cycle of protest and suppression, hope and disillusionment, continues to turn, Egypt perpetually stuck in the middle of its political song.
Ira Glass
Sarah Carr reporting from Cairo. Her insightful observations on Egypt can be found on her blog, Inanities.org.
