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June 24th, 2012: Reflections from DukeEngage Cairo

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Kishan Shah

Sitting in Arabesque with our whole crew, I was overcome with excitement, anticipation, and anxiety. The café was jam-packed with eager Egyptians awaiting the momentous announcement that would ensure one of two fates: angst and chaos among the hundreds of thousands of people in Tahrir Square or elation and merriment. I could feel myself stirring, impatiently awaiting a name: Ahmed Shafiq or Mohammed Mursi to be uttered from the lips of the head of the Supreme Court, Farouk Sultan. As I tried to make sense of the Arabic swirling through the café, I was overcome by my emotions: with a Shafiq win, the country was sure to go up in flames with protests, violence, and pandemonium. Earlier in the day, Ustaad Lo and Taylor (our on-site coordinator), had attended evacuation training to ensure we were prepared for the worst. I certainly wasn’t ready to leave Egypt. My adventures and love affair with Cairo had just begun and yet, I faced the incredibly real possibility of being on the next flight back to Indiana. I couldn’t come to terms with leaving Cairo so soon, but those thoughts clouded my mind as Sultan read page after page of voting results from each governorate.

Please, I thought, please let Mursi win. For my own selfish reasons, I couldn’t help but pray Mursi would come out on top; I thought we would stay in Cairo if this were the case. Ustaad Lo had texted us right before the result-reading extravaganza had begun: “Mursi got it, no worries (:” I’m not sure how Ustaad always seems to know these things, but I was foolish to doubt him. When the final tally was read and Mursi was announced as the new rais (president in Arabic), clapping, cheering, and horn-honking ensued. Throngs of people filled the streets, flashing peace signs and Egyptian flags as the city erupted with joy. I, too, could not stop smiling. We were safe, I thought, we’re staying!

Sarah Haas

June 24th, 2012 is a day I will never forget. After anxiously awaiting the release of the presidential election results, the news that Morsi won had me running to my apartment window in Garden City and flinging it open to hear the roar of the crowd in Tahrir Sqaure. When I think of that day, my mind is enthralled by a film strip of images and an unceasing buzz of people, an almost rhythmic beat like one of my favorite poems being read aloud. I remember walking through the streets after the announcement of the results and finding my stride align with the melodic “Morsi! Morsi!” chants from the proud Egyptians filling the streets in celebration.

When I finally got to my destination, Arabesque Café, to meet with the rest of the DukeEngage team, I took time to reflect in writing about the thrilling moment I was soaking in:

“All of these people from so many different generations and walks of life coming together to celebrate the change they have been believing in for so long- what a wonderful reminder of how beautiful life is, of how connected we are as human beings. Part of me wonders that even though I am here in Cairo witnessing this pivotal moment, can I really be a part of it? I am happy for Egypt, sure, but imagine the elation the Egyptian people are feeling; as an American, this is something I will never be able to understand. This isn’t my country, my history, my struggles. However, humanity’s struggles and triumphs, though very different, are intertwined delicately. I’ve always been a naïve idealist, but at the end of the day, we’re all in this together.”

I stopped writing for a moment as the waiter at Arabisk, Mahmoud, brought me my tea. He motioned that I should be writing in Arabic (if only) and then asked me “Morsi or Shafik?” I looked him in the eyes and paused- is it really that simple? I replied “Morsi!” but still to this day I am unsure; however, what I do know is that I wanted to see a change for Egypt and its people. Mahmoud broke my sentimental mood by putting his hands over his face- motioning that I better cover up with a hijab or niqab. He laughed lightly and moved on to the next customer. For a moment, I was snapped back into the reality of the bigger picture and a surge of questions begin to arise in my mind: What will Egypt be like for women and religious minorities now? Will democracy be sustainable and what powers will Morsi have as president? Further, how will this country change? Because, for better or worse, change is coming.

Amber Watson

The most intensified feeling of patriotism I have ever felt was felt on this day, and I’m not even Egyptian. As I walked down the street with Ustaaz Lo and two other members of the group the following is some of what I saw and heard:

  • “Welcome! This is the new Egypt!”
  • Peace signs. Everywhere. And when I reciprocated the gesture people would smile even bigger than they were before.
  • A boy no older than 5 propped up on his father’s shoulder with his face painted with the colors of the Egyptian flag.
  • Cars only meant for 5 people stacked 10 people deep to chauffeur everyone to Tahrir, all honking to the exact same tune as they rode by.
  • The homeless woman I’ve seen so many times sleeping or begging on the street was up and striding. As we passed each other I noticed she’s sipping on a Pepsi and smiling to everyone for the first time since I’ve been here.
  • “Ahumdulellah!” (Praise be to God) was the response I received from Ahman (a young teenage boy who delivers water to us) when asked if he was happy.
  • An elderly man driving at 5 mph down the street in order to throw candy out of his window. “Sweets!” he said when he saw us foreigners and then continued with “Mabrook” (congratulations) as he continued on.

“Mabrook” was the most heard word of the day for me.  They weren’t saying congratulations to Morsi or to the Muslim Brotherhood; they were saying it to each other. Why? Because today as a united people under one nation called Egypt they succeeded together. This was and still remains to be the only day in Cairo that I was never once annoyed with the constant honking. I can still hear the rhythm in my head. I was never once afraid just because I was a foreigner. Seeing so many people so rejoiced and all towards one goal they have achieved, you can’t help but feel rejoiced with them. It’s a type of feeling I’m not sure I will ever experience again in my life.

Stephanie Egeler

As I walked down the streets after the Egyptian election results were announced, I couldn’t help but smile at the crowds of people holding up peace signs, singing, and cheering. It was an infectious atmosphere of celebration after a week of uncertainty and waiting, but in the back of my mind I was thinking about the future of Egypt. After countless conversations with Egyptians about the elections, Morsi still unnerves me. It isn’t his religious or political affiliation that makes me so nervous, but rather what Egyptians have claimed that he will do.

While it’s easy to write of the claims of Shafiq supporters that Morsi would make Egypt a country of xenophobes, the casual stance of many Morsi supporters that he would establish a military regime is astounding. One very active Morsi supporter said to me “Morsi will have a military regime and be very powerful, but at least he will be a change from Mubarak.” Another claimed, “Morsi will not leave after 4 or 8 years, he will make it so that he can stay no matter what Egyptians say; he will be there for a very long time.” I was shocked and had to actively keep my jaw from dropping at these words. I just kept thinking “you mean you’re actively voting for someone you think will become a dictator? Why?”

However, right now for me in Cairo, Morsi means peace and the chance to stay here for the next month, and I am absolutely thrilled for this opportunity! It was incredible to see an entire city explode with joy and to have heard the cheering in Tahrir from my window, but in the back of my mind, I still wonder about the bigger picture and what it will mean for the Egyptians in 4 to 8 years’ time.

Marianna Jordan

Reflections from June 24th, 2012:

“So I’m sitting in our favorite cafe right now on Qasr-El-Aini called Arabesque – and the Egyptian election results are supposedly (inshallah?) going to be released in 30 minutes. The excitement is palpable and I’m feeling the energy in a way that is indescribable and without precedent for me. It’s really just incredible and crazy that we are out right now and going to witness the reaction to the first democratic election in this country’s long and tumultuous history. The weight of this moment is overwhelming – Egypt has been at the crux of civilizations for centuries and is arguably the most important country in the Middle East, which I have been devoting my studies and personal interests to for the past three years. More than anything I wish I could be in Tahrir right now where all the action is happening (close to 1 million people must be there right now — unbelievable!) and obviously we aren’t allowed to go, but the thought of being in the place where the fate of this country (OK maybe a bit overdramatic, but that’s what it feels like!) is decided is indeed tempting.”

The new president of Egypt was announced after a long and anxiety-ridden speech. Every Egyptians eyes were glued to the TV in anticipation and I can say with all honesty that I’ve never felt so much nervousness resting on a single moment. People immediately started cheering and clapping when Sultan (the election commissioner) announced Morsi as the new president. Crowds of cheering Egyptians waving flags, chanting, and singing stormed past the cafe doors in excitement, en route to Tahrir of course. I couldn’t help but feel Egyptian as I shared in their joy – a new era of Egypt’s history has just begun!

 Dylan Peterson

In the modern history of Egypt, I don’t think the streets of Cairo had ever been that empty before. What used to be a chaotic stream of buses, cars, trucks, motorcycles, donkey-drawn watermelon carriages going in literally every direction and at their own speeds was replaced with the occasional taxi or family car quietly streaming along. No horns, no yelling, no people walking in the streets. Everyone was inside a café or shop, listening to the radio or watching the TV as Farouk Sultan gave a speech minutes before releasing the results of Egypt’s first democratic presidential election. He was slated to speak for about an hour and half, which seemed reasonable given his inch thick stack of papers that he rattled off one by one. Men in business suits, bloggers on laptops, and our group with hookahs and tea filled the smoke-filled café as we all waited in tense silence to see what would be the fate of Egypt: would the streets break out in riots if Shafik won? Had SCAF negotiated with Mursi to give him the presidency? After my Macbook refused to wirelessly connect with Arabesque’s wifi and thus prevented me from reading an English translation of the speech, I walked back to our apartment with Yohana to get my iPhone, which always worked in the café. On the way back to Arabesque as we crossed through a gas station, men cheered outside a small café. I knew Morsi had won. There wouldn’t have been such a large cheer for Shafik, especially in the area where we are staying. I also knew I had missed history in the making by trying to find a stupid iPhone.

We next witnessed uproar throughout Garden City and the streets returned to their usual jam-packed and treacherous selves. Sedans with people sitting in open trunks feet dragging on the road and motorcycles with families of 5 on them rushed to Tahrir to celebrate democracy. Fireworks rained down on us. In a way, the 4th of July came a few days early for us.

Ryan Gaylord

Waiting for the election results was stressful. A few of us arrived at the cafe early to make sure we weren’t on the streets when the announcement was made. Even once the speech started, though, we had to sit and wait through almost an hour of tedious details from the chair of the supreme court, Farouk Sultan. The atmosphere was already charged – as soon as the commission members took their seats, the entire city seemed to stop and take a deep breath. The cafe became perfectly silent. But the contents of the speech worried me even more. Sultan seemed to be preparing the people for an unpopular verdict – criticizing the Brotherhood for their many electioneering violations and continually deducting votes from Morsi. Still more troubling, we kept getting reports on Twitter of tanks moving towards Tahrir and helicopters flying above the city.  History hung in the balance for a short time, and many of us feared the worst.

As a result, the reaction was all the more jubilant when Morsi’s victory was announced. The people in our cafe jumped out of their seats and started shouting. We could hear the roar from down the road in Tahrir right away. My peers have discussed some of the images we were fortunate enough to witness. All the cars honking with one rhythm. Cars packed with people, crowds of Egyptians moving down the road. Everyone waving flags. It was bigger than just Morsi – I’ve spoken to many Shafiq supporters who celebrated in Tahrir just the same. Many people saw the results as a manifestation of the revolution. The SCAF (Supreme Council of the Armed Forces) could meddle with the Constitution but not, apparently, the votes. The last remnants of the old regime had seemingly been removed.

I think many Americans take democracy for granted. They should have been in Garden City that day. The joy was infectious. I couldn’t stop grinning. The people felt empowered, and it was a beautiful thing to see.

There’s still a lot of uncertainty in Egypt’s future. We don’t know what the new regime’s relationship to the rest of the middle east will be. We don’t even know what powers it will have. We don’t know what the composition of the new parliament will be. We don’t know how the SCAF will react to a Morsi presidency. The transition will continue, ان شاء الله, but I think June 24th was a pretty strong step in the right direction.

Dan O’Keefe

We were lucky enough to be here in Egypt as Morsi became the first democratically elected leader in Egypt’s history.  It’s been a while since that day, and I remember it mostly in a few images and feelings.

I remember sitting in a packed café with some friends intently waiting for the results on TV.  While it was the most crowded the café had ever been, it was also by far the quietest I had ever seen it.  I remember the frustration as the announcement was first pushed back half an hour, and could feel it grow as Sultan’s speech dragged on for over an hour.  I was scared of the results:  scared that people might be angry over them or that protests would break out all over Cairo and that we would have to go home.

Of course, more than anything, I remember the excitement and happiness after the announcement finally came.  People smiling, shaking hands and saying “الحمد الله” (thanks be to God).  The cars in the street all started heading to Tahrir to celebrate.  Pick-up trucks regularly had upwards of 8 people standing in the back.  Everybody was honking and chanting “Morsi! Morsi!”

It goes without saying that I had never witnessed a celebration like this before.  I had never seen millions of people all come together over one thing like that.  Even now a few weeks later I don’t know exactly what to make of it. The one thing that I do know is that it was a day I’ll never forget.

Desmond Lee

The following is an account of what I felt on June 24, 2012:

“The sounds, the sights, the emotions: it all seems so surreal to me. As I sit in my favorite café, I am overwhelmed by what feels like a wild cocktail of excitement, joy, and an all-too-common sense of uncertainty. With the blaring harangue of news networks streaming the latest updates over our heads, the pulse of Tahrir is palpable no matter where you are in the city. Muhammad Morsi is the first elected president of Egypt. Just typing that sentence sends indescribable emotions and sensations throughout my body. I am here. We are all here, encapsulated in this incredible moment in Egyptian history. I struggle to formulate in words and phrases what I feel right now: my happiness, my confusion, my fears. But as I remain in a daze, gripped by the images of youth wildly chanting “Morsi” as they zoom by, I begin to realize that what I feel can’t possibly compare to the emotions of the nearly 90 million native Egyptians surrounding me. I’ve only been in this country for four weeks and already I feel emotionally invested in today’s historic events.”

But what to me was a traveler’s “dream come true,” was a truly defining moment for the citizens of Egypt, one that will reverberate in their lives for the weeks, months, and years to come. For a nation gripped by a 16-month bout of instability, Morsi’s victory marks another chapter in the thrilling adventure that is Egypt’s revolution.  But today, our DukeEngage group is an eyewitness to a turning point in Egypt’s story, a plot twist with the potential to change everything. Many questions remain unanswered: what kind of president of will Muhammad Morsi be? What role will minorities and women play in the latest episode of political drama? How will the world respond to Egypt’s first truly Islamist leader? Pondering these uncertainties is both exhilarating and extremely frightening. For the first time in my life, I feel I am a part of “history-in-the making,” a chronicle of events that will be studied by future generations. But while they will benefit from history’s clarity, my present self is blind to what lies ahead. And yet with all of these unknowns and ambiguities, one thing remains crystal clear: I will never forget where I was and whom I was with on June 24, 2012.

Read Desmond’s full post here.

Amanda Young

Two weeks have passed since Egypt announced that Muhammed Morsi as the new president. Our group felt incredibly lucky to witness this moment: we all had the chance to watch parades of happy, cheering voters driving their trucks and motorcycles on Qasr el Aini street towards Tahrir Square, just a mere ten minute walk from our apartment. But for me, one of the most rewarding experiences of being in Cairo in the aftermath of the revolution is talking with Egyptians about the uncertain future and what they wish for Cairo to become. On Wednesday at Al Resala, one of our NGOs where we teach English to adults, our group engaged in a heated discussion about Morsi and what his government will accomplish. The discussion turned into a shouting match over whether Morsi can achieve their dreams of universal education, abundant jobs, and improved traffic, just to name a few. When I looked back on my journal, where I wrote all of my thoughts on the excitement of June 24th, I realized that I had been very naive in my reflections; while the celebrations on the streets did merit my own happiness for Egyptians, I did not fully realize that underneath the joy, much hesitation and disappointment is widespread amongst Egyptians, even those who support Morsi. What will define Egyptian history is not June 24, but how Morsi’s government serves the Egyptian people.

 Program Director: Mbaye Lo

An excerpt from “Egypt at crossroads” published on The Immanent Frame:

Mohamed Morsi was declared President of Egypt little more than two weeks ago. Challenger and former President Hosni Mubarak’s last prime minister, Ahmed Shafik, sent President Morsi a telegram congratulating him on his victory: “I am pleased to present to you my sincere congratulations for your victory in the presidential election, wishing you success in the difficult task that has been trusted to you by the great people of Egypt.”

As thousands celebrated the victory of the Freedom and Justice Party—part of the 84-year-old Muslim Brotherhood organization—in Tahrir Square, just a few blocks away a much more somber mood prevailed…

(Read the rest of the article here.)

Telling Stories

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When I first arrived here, I immediately loved the beauty of Egyptian culture. The incredible kindness and insuppressible hope of the people. The level of political dedication and public engagement. The natural beauty of the pyramids, of the view of the Nile and Cairo Tower from our apartment, of the ancient mosques and institutes of learning. The relaxed, communal lifestyle of Garden City.

We’ve been disappointed by the media’s and Western culture’s negative portrayal of events on the ground over here. But over the last couple weeks, as we returned to work and class after our long house arrest, we’ve started to get a sense of just how much is truly going on behind the scenes – in Egypt, in Cairo, in Garden City, at our workplaces, and even within our own little group. The emotional and physical toll of such sustained, intense effort is certainly becoming a factor, for me at least. I’ve come to see that there are some real, non-trivial problems with the culture here.

How do we reconcile that negativity with the inherent beauty of Egypt?

I’ve always thought that the stories we tell, the songs we sing, the pictures we paint about the world shape, in turn, the way we approach it. Over the last couple weeks, I’ve been thinking a lot about stories. We’ve heard a lot of them in our time here. Some are tragic. All are hopeful. I’d like to share a few with you.

“I will not be driven into submission”

A couple weeks ago, journalist Natasha Smith was sexually assaulted near Tahrir in the frenzy following the announcement of the presidential election results.  Her blog post describing the horrific experience attracted widespread attention, particularly in the Western media. I’m fortunate enough to be isolated from this often violent, objectifying cultural attitude towards women, but it is a constant pressure on other members of our group.

Ms. Smith’s account describes a physical and emotional pain that I can’t even begin to wrap my mind around. But the language with which she ultimately chooses to characterize such unacceptable violence is that of hope, defiance, and assurance, not that of anger or weakness. She refuses to play the submissive, inferior role into which the mob tried to force her.

“My dad, my mom, and I”

One day this week at Ana el-Masry, our primary service partner, one of our little friends wandered into the English classroom, where I was relaxing with Amanda and MJ during a break in classes. I’m not quite sure where he was supposed to be at the time, but he was just drawing quietly, so we just enjoyed his company. After a while, he proudly showed us his creation. It was a simple crayon drawing echoing those produced by children all over the world – a house, a living room, and a family. He pointed out who all the people were: “Ana, wa baba, wa mama!” Him, his mother, and his father.

The staff at Ana el-Masry don’t know where his parents are. He may well be an orphan.

I told him “Gameel!” – beautiful – while trying to hold back tears. It was an incredibly poignant moment, one of the most powerful from a very emotionally moving trip.

We’ll never know this sweet child’s whole story, and it’s difficult to read too much into his mental state from an isolated incident. But it’s safe to say that his experience with family has been incredibly difficult at best. And yet, he knows what that loving relationship looks like, and wants that life for himself. It’s a tragic story, but one filled with longing for something better.

“We forgot everything”

Finally, and in a larger sense, I’ve been fascinated with how Egyptians have spoken of their experience of revolution in my conversations so far. They speak of the few months from last year when the Mubarak regime was overthrown as a time when the people forgot everything and turned out into the streets en masse. Their fear of the government was suddenly irrelevant. It’s an unparalleled tale of popular empowerment.

The promise of the revolution has been fulfilled, at least in part and certainly in the minds of many Egyptians, with the election of Mohammad Morsi as the country’s first ever democratically elected president. But when Egyptians tell this story, they often mention that they haven’t quite been able to recapture the same level of public engagement over the last several months. The military establishment still holds a significant amount of power over the current and future activities of the government, and the runoff election between two extreme candidates led to widespread disillusionment.

Despite all this, though, every time I’ve heard this story described, it’s told with extreme fondness, determination, and hope. No matter how much the extreme poles of the Muslim Brotherhood and the SCAF are criticized, that knowledge that the people can shape their nation for the better is always hovering just beneath the surface. And the more they remind themselves of that possibility, the more real it becomes.

A song of hope

It’s very easy to look at all the personal and cultural weaknesses of Egypt and label the entire country as somehow backwards, violent, or underdeveloped. And there’s some truth to those characterizations. But to do so is to ignore the massive cultural complexity at work here. There is more than one Egypt – there’s hardship, injustice, and struggle of all kinds, just as in any nation.

The common thread in these stories isn’t just adversity – it’s hope. To me, that’s even more inspiring than the superficially apparent, beautiful aspects of the culture. Understanding this is more than just realizing the hidden beauty of Egypt – it’s the recognition of a theme that can be applied to all cultures, no matter how ostensibly disparate. People the world over are striving for something better, and we’ve witnessed that firsthand here in Egypt.

I hope that when I tell stories about struggle in my own life, I can sing a song of hope, craft a narrative of defiance, and paint a picture of a better future.

“Cairo is a Museum”

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In the center of Tahrir a rosy stone building rises above the rest. Even though its two stories are by no means taller than the high-rises around it, it stands with a purpose, a beauty that the hotels and government offices lack. It is the Egyptian Museum and it houses thousands of artifacts all from this one incredible country.

Entrance to the Egyptian Museum

As I wander around the labyrinth of sarcophagi and hieroglyphics I am struck by the incredible stretch of history housed in this one area. Inside the museum thousands of years are brought to life by the artifacts; the jewelry, stones, and mummies whisper of an ancient civilization, one far advanced and steadfast as ever. I wind my way through periods of art and burial traditions, each giving glimpses of different dynasties and conquorers. It reminds me that no matter what Egypt has been through, it will rise again.

Egypt has been conquered by the Nubians, the Romans, and later colonized by European powers, but it rose above all the conquests to become its own proud country. The museum with all its historical glory is in Tahrir Square, the site of Egypt’s recent internal revolution. Uncertainty fills every crevice of its future, but I believe that Egypt will rise above and succeed as it always has. In my previous post, I mentioned how the Egyptians have a new-found patriotism that they are excited to explore. They have overcome their foes and unjust rule, and I am excited to see how they will rise again.

As our groups floats along the Nile on one of our many Faluka (basically a sailboat) rides, Professor Lo talks about how there is so much to do and see in Cairo, and says that “Cairo is a museum” within itself. While he was talking about the opportunities and history which permeate this amazing city, I take it in a different light. Cairo is a museum of conquest, revolution, and victory. It is a museum of a people–an entire civilization and their struggle to survive, to overcome, and to thrive in this world. Most importantly, it is a museum which is always under construction, always expanding, and always gaining new exhibits.

Graffiti in Tahrir

Unrealized Potential

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The Politics

When reading the election bulletins over this past weekend, two themes kept coming up more often than any others: apathy and depression. Under Western reasoning, recent events should have greatly engaged the Egyptian people. We have directly witnessed pivotal developments such as the sentencing of Mubarak and his sons, the dissolution of Parliament, and the first democratic presidential election in the country’s history, among many more. But nevertheless, the general mood has been one of indifference or even resigned acquiescence. I don’t mean to dismiss the Egyptian people’s incredible public awareness – everyone clearly knows where he or she stands, and there have been demonstrations of celebration or frustration far greater than those we could ever seen in America.

But the harsh reality of the situation is that in a non-trivial sense, very little has truly changed from the situation two or even ten years ago. A couple days ago, we had the privilege of meeting with Professor Abdallah Schleifer from the American University in Cairo. One of the most interesting points he made was that the real coup in Egypt, rather than the dissolution of the Parliament, occurred right after the revolution. Despite all the anti-establishment sentiment and raw strength of the revolution, the SCAF retained power and has been running daily public functions ever since. As such, the people got excited about the first several rounds of elections, but it has now become apparent, in Mr. Schleifer’s words, that there has been “no change in who is holding the power.” A shift from SCAF holding most of the authority to SCAF holding slightly more authority has very little impact on the lives of average Egyptians.

We’re still waiting for the final election results to be announced, but regardless of who wins, the political situation in Egypt remains the same as it has been for much of recent history – a constant struggle between the Muslim Brotherhood and the military establishment. We still haven’t seen the radical rebalancing of society associated with a true revolution. As of right now, the liberal revolutionaries simply cannot organize to match these formidable, long-standing institutions. And as a result, there is a vast sense of uncertainty and helplessness – no one knows what powers the President will have, what shape the eventual Constitution will take, what the power balance of the new Parliament will be, even whether Mubarak is currently alive or dead. The great promise of the ثورة (an Arabic word encompassing revolution, demonstrations, and a shift towards something new) seems to have been disappointed for the time being.

The Economy

Another incredibly insightful figure with whom we recently spoke – independent journalist Noel King – posed the DE Cairo group this question: “Where is Egypt’s economy going to be in 10 years?” It’s an important concern and, in the vein of the uncertainty mentioned above, no one quite has a definitive answer. Egypt has any number of incredible natural resources – it’s a beautiful place to visit, it’s experiencing tremendous growth in its population and intellectual talent, it has an unparalleled position of regional significance geographically and historically.

The Egyptian people could go any number of different grand strategy paths that could make their nation a regional economic power. They could revive their formidable manufacturing resources. They could continue to develop their tourism industry. Or, perhaps most promising, they could capitalize on their growing intellectual and R&D capital that has already begun to attract prominent Western investors.

The sad truth, however, is that none of these possibilities are being developed to their true potential. Given the confusion in government, the nation’s infrastructure simply isn’t keeping up with its rapid population growth, particularly in Cairo. I’m always struck by the fact that the vast majority of large buildings we see on any given day are high-density housing. Further, there is no stable intellectual and economic policy which could encourage corporate and individual risk-taking and development. On an international level, the same internal instability discourages foreign investment – no one knows what ideological position the government is about to take, especially with the Camp David accords at stake.

As a result, we have observed near-Western affluence in some areas and abject poverty in others. When the two are juxtaposed, the contrast is striking. You can buy a single glass of lemonade for 40 LE at the Four Seasons, then walk out the door and see the lower class begging for pocket change. This problem is a common one in developing countries worldwide, and there is enough possibility such that Egypt may well break out of this pattern in the near future. But currently, this raw economic potential of every kind is disappointingly underutilized.

The People

A common theme among our group discussions is the kindness and public engagement that characterize the Egyptian people. Both qualities generally surpass those found in America, as far as I am concerned. If you’ll pardon the generalization, the people here care about one another, and deeply hope to do the best they can in life. But their ability to actually effect change is ultimately limited – there is virtually no middle class and a distinct lack of social mobility. The sheer wealth disparity, as discussed above, forces the majority of Egyptians to stay where they are.

We often run into the same issue at Ana el-Masry. The children there, despite the many and intense challenges they’ve faced all their lives, are incredibly talented and bright. We’re consistently inspired by how much hope there is at that compound in the desert. But at the same time, we’ve grown more and more frustrated by the general organizational confusion out there – at times, even the staffers don’t seem to know what to do next. And although the children’s opportunity to learn and eventually work some service job or another basic career is a vast improvement over their earlier prospects, I can’t help but be disappointed given how beautiful and bright they are now.

The student

This all is meant to be neither overly depressing nor an indictment of Egyptian culture. I write it celebrating the potential, not grieving the loss per se. And “unrealized” necessarily means not knowing, a lack of awareness. The kindly fellow who sells us croissants every morning doesn’t understand national grand strategy, and doesn’t need to. The average Egyptian isn’t concerned with these macro political, economic, and social concerns.

But I do understand, I do know, I do realize how much potential there is here. What responsibility do I have to these people?

When we arrived at the compound this morning after a long break due to the elections, the kids were ecstatic to see us. One of my little friends kept telling me over and over again – اخي، اخي، اخي. I didn’t know what it meant at the time since he was pronouncing it with a heavy accent, so I asked Professor Lo. It means “my brother.”

That made me stop and reflect, more so than anything else so far. My 8-year-old brother reminds me so much of this particular child from Ana el-Masry. But my biological little brother in America will have infinitely more opportunity than my spiritual little brother here. He will grow up learning, in a stable home, and likely pursue a successful career after attending a prominent university. If he was born on the streets of Cairo, he probably wouldn’t. I honestly don’t think I could have surpassed such a massive institutional challenge myself.

I’ve been struggling with finding my place in society and the world for the last nine months. But now that I place my life in a global context, that quest suddenly assumes much greater significance. It can’t be just about me anymore. What can I do with my specific talents and historical narrative given my place in the global community? Or the more relevant question – what ought I to do? There is suddenly a new sense of responsibility and necessity, in an almost moral sense, to what I should do with my life. To waste what I’ve been given is to insult the constant efforts of Egyptians and other global peoples to do so much with so little.

I seem to have written you all another epistle instead of a blog post. Thanks so much for keeping up with my thoughts from our crazy last couple weeks. I’ll close with this – I’m not sure I have an answer to how to realize my own potential in a global context, but perhaps realizing the necessity thereof is the beginnings of an answer in itself.

On Democracy in Egypt

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Today is not just any Saturday in Egypt. Today is the beginning of the voting for the run-offs in Egypt’s first democratic presidential election- something that will be taught in history books in years to come, and here I am, a small-town American girl in Cairo, witnessing democracy at work first-hand. The polls are open and Egyptians are casting their vote for either Ahmed Shafik, the former prime minister to Mubarak, or Mohamed Morsi of the Muslim Brotherhood.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What Egypt is facing is two extremes; a polarized election that it seems democracy often initiates. With our own election coming up in the States, it’s interesting to see the comparison. Like many Americans, some Egyptians are frustrated with the run-off candidates. They wonder “Where is the middle ground?” Putting whether or not democracy is or is not at work aside, the question remains: has the election become a game of power where the Egyptian people are simply the pawns?

My time in Egypt has been one of the most incredible and humbling experiences of a lifetime for many reasons. Unsurprisingly, one of them includes watching Egyptians take ownership of their country. The sense of dedication and commitment and the relatively peaceful nature of the protests have been what has impressed me the most, showing the world that violence is not required to make your voice heard. Egypt has also set yet another precedent for the world that the youth can make the ground shake too. Furthermore, that those younger generations are rising up to take their place with altruistic conviction.

While I’ve been staying in Cairo, I’ve had the opportunity to speak with many Egyptians about the election. It’s a topic many conversations revolve around because, understandably, it’s something that is constantly on people’s minds. Whether they were pro-Morsi or pro-Shafik, there was one thing they all had in common: the desire for a bigger and brighter future for Egypt. I also had the chance to speak with an incredible woman who communicated to me that she is finding her voice in democracy in a different way, by boycotting the election. She told me she felt trapped and that neither candidate was the right match for Egypt. Perhaps, abstaining from voting is a third and alternative choice for Egyptians. “Do you think a low voter turnout will affect the election?” I asked her. She replied, “We have thought about that a lot, but we know that this isn’t what we want for our country.”

Photo Source: U.S. Embassy Cairo

As I am sitting in our apartment, I find myself pondering the outcome of the election happening right outside our door. Is Egypt ready for a change and will they continue on the path to democracy? Did the revolution spark an inextinguishable fire? Will there be a fair and peaceful transition to power? It’s been quite moving to watch the foundation of democracy in action and I consider myself quite lucky to be in Cairo in the midst of history in the making. The rest of the world is watching Egypt through a screen and I’m one of the few witnessing the transition live. More than anything, though, I’ve valued the opportunity to see this momentous time through the Egyptian’s eyes. I’m inspired by their fight to determine their own future and their efforts in reshaping the face of Egypt. I’m reminded that democracy isn’t easy, nor is it always ideal. There are struggles that come along with it that requires an engagement that I believe the Egyptians have yet to shy away from. It requires a fight, and it’s a fight worth fighting for.

Photo Source: http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dk5JxTLOcTI/T8C0q5hw0lI/AAAAAAAAwwg/uHPf4geQK5c/s1600/Egypt_Mohammed-Morsy-and-Ahmed–006.jpg