It's early Friday morning, my favorite time to be awake in Cairo. The streets are empty, the birds are chirping (yes, there are birds even downtown), and the air is cool and breezy. I've opened the doors to my shallow balcony to let in some fresh air while I write a final paper, and then I wondered how long I have until the chants from Tahrir become too loud for me to ignore.
The past week has been marked again by excessive violence and death in Cairo. Last Friday night, I watched from the sidewalk of Talat Harb Street as protesters from Tahrir (mostly supporters of disqualified Islamist candidate Hazem Abu Ismail) marched to the Ministry of Defense in Abbasiya. A few hours later, they arrived and, according to reports, were attacked by neighborhood thugs and plainclothes policemen. Revolutionary youth soon joined their Islamist compatriots in solidarity.
This has happened before in this same location. According to an account by Ahdaf Soueif in her new book, Cairo: My City, Our Revolution, protesters went to the Ministry of Defense weeks after the fall of Mubarak to protest SCAF. There they were met with rocks, bottles and clubs from angry residents and government-funded thugs. Soldiers looked on passively as Egyptian killed Egyptian, intervening only days later.
The story this week seems much the same, except for the first time the majority of the protesters are Islamists and the Islamist politicians (Brotherhoods, Salafis, etc) are for the first time condemning the violence and the state neglect, whereas they turned a blind eye to the same conduct for the past year when mainly secular Egyptians were dying in the streets.
The military intervened the day before yesterday, and within minutes the violence stopped--which begs the question why they didn't intervene earlier. (Perhaps they adopt the boys-will-be-boys approach to nation rearing.) There is a clear pattern to these extended violent episodes. A peaceful protest turns to an exchange of rocks and tear gas. The ante is upped by protesters with Molotov cocktails and by police with bird shot and eventually live ammunition. Infiltrators attack protesters with clubs and knives before protesters detain them (somehow, mercifully, without killing them). News of the violence spreads, disrupting traffic and local business, stealing from ordinary Egyptians any dwindling hope for stability, and often attracting apolitical sympathizers to the protesters' cause. After a few days, the military rolls in, arrests a few civilians for instigating violence, talks about the foreign hand, and warns anyone from attacking the army.
When these things happen, the next logical question is, what will happen on Friday? Since January 28, 2011, the first Friday of Rage that sparked the Egyptian revolution, Fridays have been the most common day for protest because the country has the day off and most people gather at mosques at midday. Often, the big issues of the week will hang around to be resolved by the size of the Friday turnout in Tahrir. After the army cleared a three-week sit-in in Tahrir last summer, Friday protests became irregular in occurrence and size. But they still play an important role in the mostly peaceful resistance to the military regime.
What strikes me today is whether Egyptians are protesting of their own volition or whether they have been overtaken by the political momentum of their actions. SCAF announced yesterday their continued intention to transfer power to an elected president by July 1 (or the end of May even, if someone wins 50% of the vote in the first round) and warned anyone from approaching their headquarters in Abbasiya. Granted, protesters have no reason to trust SCAF given that they have amended decisions like this in the past and have just spent the week passively watching Egyptians kill each other.
Nonetheless, the talk on Twitter this morning indicates that protesters will gather (not clear yet whether in Tahrir, Abbasiya or somewhere else) to demand that SCAF stick to its July 1 timetable. The question thus begs to be answered, why protest in demand of something that has already been conceded, promised and re-promised? The only explanation I can reason is that an expectation has been set in these sorts of situations for massive popular turnout, and if that is not achieved, the opposition movement is weakened in the face of the regime.
Many Egyptians are rightfully upset by the week's events, worried that the past year and a half of violence and instability might come to naught, and doubtful of SCAF's true intentions; they are, of course, entitled to protest. But do they really want to, or are they being forced to by circumstances?
As I finish writing, the chants in Tahrir have begun: "Revolution! Revolution!" "Down, down with military rule!" "The people want the implementation of God's law!" From my balcony, they are interspersed with occasional car horns, the sound of early bird shopowners rolling down the metal doors of their storefronts, and the calls of the junk man: "Bikya! Bikya!" (From the Italian, vecchio, or old stuff!) The Friday routine begins...
The past week has been marked again by excessive violence and death in Cairo. Last Friday night, I watched from the sidewalk of Talat Harb Street as protesters from Tahrir (mostly supporters of disqualified Islamist candidate Hazem Abu Ismail) marched to the Ministry of Defense in Abbasiya. A few hours later, they arrived and, according to reports, were attacked by neighborhood thugs and plainclothes policemen. Revolutionary youth soon joined their Islamist compatriots in solidarity.
This has happened before in this same location. According to an account by Ahdaf Soueif in her new book, Cairo: My City, Our Revolution, protesters went to the Ministry of Defense weeks after the fall of Mubarak to protest SCAF. There they were met with rocks, bottles and clubs from angry residents and government-funded thugs. Soldiers looked on passively as Egyptian killed Egyptian, intervening only days later.
The story this week seems much the same, except for the first time the majority of the protesters are Islamists and the Islamist politicians (Brotherhoods, Salafis, etc) are for the first time condemning the violence and the state neglect, whereas they turned a blind eye to the same conduct for the past year when mainly secular Egyptians were dying in the streets.
The military intervened the day before yesterday, and within minutes the violence stopped--which begs the question why they didn't intervene earlier. (Perhaps they adopt the boys-will-be-boys approach to nation rearing.) There is a clear pattern to these extended violent episodes. A peaceful protest turns to an exchange of rocks and tear gas. The ante is upped by protesters with Molotov cocktails and by police with bird shot and eventually live ammunition. Infiltrators attack protesters with clubs and knives before protesters detain them (somehow, mercifully, without killing them). News of the violence spreads, disrupting traffic and local business, stealing from ordinary Egyptians any dwindling hope for stability, and often attracting apolitical sympathizers to the protesters' cause. After a few days, the military rolls in, arrests a few civilians for instigating violence, talks about the foreign hand, and warns anyone from attacking the army.
When these things happen, the next logical question is, what will happen on Friday? Since January 28, 2011, the first Friday of Rage that sparked the Egyptian revolution, Fridays have been the most common day for protest because the country has the day off and most people gather at mosques at midday. Often, the big issues of the week will hang around to be resolved by the size of the Friday turnout in Tahrir. After the army cleared a three-week sit-in in Tahrir last summer, Friday protests became irregular in occurrence and size. But they still play an important role in the mostly peaceful resistance to the military regime.
What strikes me today is whether Egyptians are protesting of their own volition or whether they have been overtaken by the political momentum of their actions. SCAF announced yesterday their continued intention to transfer power to an elected president by July 1 (or the end of May even, if someone wins 50% of the vote in the first round) and warned anyone from approaching their headquarters in Abbasiya. Granted, protesters have no reason to trust SCAF given that they have amended decisions like this in the past and have just spent the week passively watching Egyptians kill each other.
Nonetheless, the talk on Twitter this morning indicates that protesters will gather (not clear yet whether in Tahrir, Abbasiya or somewhere else) to demand that SCAF stick to its July 1 timetable. The question thus begs to be answered, why protest in demand of something that has already been conceded, promised and re-promised? The only explanation I can reason is that an expectation has been set in these sorts of situations for massive popular turnout, and if that is not achieved, the opposition movement is weakened in the face of the regime.
Many Egyptians are rightfully upset by the week's events, worried that the past year and a half of violence and instability might come to naught, and doubtful of SCAF's true intentions; they are, of course, entitled to protest. But do they really want to, or are they being forced to by circumstances?
As I finish writing, the chants in Tahrir have begun: "Revolution! Revolution!" "Down, down with military rule!" "The people want the implementation of God's law!" From my balcony, they are interspersed with occasional car horns, the sound of early bird shopowners rolling down the metal doors of their storefronts, and the calls of the junk man: "Bikya! Bikya!" (From the Italian, vecchio, or old stuff!) The Friday routine begins...
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