funny thoughts on egyptian politics

found this in my notes from 12/05. funny, upset, but apt?

It is now a two sided political system here, kind of like the Democrats and Republicans, except that in this case we are talking about the crazy autocratic corrupt single party state security obsessed ruling party and the crazy god obsessed, we are doing this all for god, don’t recoginize Israel, ultimately people will ask for god’s law, including stoning, to be implemented Muslim Brotherhood. It’s the wacko show, and the religious wackos are outdoing their bloated, corrupt counterparts. The legal opposition, meanwhile, isn’t even in ring three, its out mopping the bathroom somewhere. That’s how bad its gotten.

from a Dec 2005 column

The stark choices in Egyptian politics were captured this month in the dramatic standoffs in front of dozens of polling places during Egypt’s parliamentary vote. Rows of riot police blocked access to the polls, as hundreds of angry men and veiled women of the banned Muslim Brotherhood pressed up against the barricades, demanding to be allowed to vote.

The violence that erupted in these showdowns left five people dead and hundreds wounded by the poll’s end December 7. It was the same number as were killed in the last parliamentary election in 2000, indicating that while some of the rules of the game have changed in Egyptian politics, the government’s desire to maintain dominance at any cost remains the same.

It was a sad lesson to learn for any who might have taken seriously the National Democratic Party’s pledges of political reform over the past year. The government permitted a direct presidential vote for the first time in September, and let that vote take place without significance interference from security forces.

NDP spokesmen have been proudly showcasing the party’s ambitious reform agenda for the next parliament, which includes lifting the nation’s 24-year old Emergency Law, which strictly represses political life in Egypt, and loosening many of the current restrictions on political parties that have helped maintain Egypt as a single-party state.

The future of Egypt lies with a “multiparty political system, a political system where you have alternatives to the majority party, whatever that party is,” said Mohammed Kamal, one of the NDP’s leading young ideologues, on the day before the voting began.

“The government, the president, is committed to conducting a free and fair election, with state institutions staying neutral,” he said in an interview.

Instead, a disturbing pattern unfolded throughout electoral districts in Egypt. The government gave the Muslim Brotherhood unprecidented freedom to campaign and hold rallies before the vote. But when Brotherhood candidates began to win in far greater numbers than had been predicted, the soft-shoe manipulation and vote-rigging that marred the election’s first round gave way to strong-arm tactics remininsent of elections past.

When posting riot police in front of polling stations didn’t deter opposition voters December 7, state security forces fired tear gas and rubber bullets. In some cases, live ammunition was used, killing opposition party supporters, according to independent election observers. The Egyptian government denied Wednesday that its election security forces shot live rounds.

In theory, many secular Egyptians would agree with the government that all things being equal, it would be desirable to keep the Muslim Brotherhood’s presence in parliament in check. There is a great deal of fear about their ambiguous agenda should they gain power, and the impact their religious views will have on the rights of women and non-Muslim minorities.

But the cheating used to limit the Brotherhood’s gains laid out in unusually clear terms a basic question for those who are interested in democracy in Egypt: Is it better to stand with the side that wants to impose Islamic law, or with the side that will employ any means to stop them from voting?

Liberals and secular opposition politicians are increasingly choosing to stand with the Brotherhood’s right to participate, even when they oppose their religious platform. Egypt’s weak secular and liberal opposition groups courted the Brotherhood for their united opposition front before this election.

For the past year, Brotherhood members have participated alongside Marxists, liberals, and socialists in anti-Mubarak demonstrations in Cairo. Analysts increasingly say that the Brotherhood’s presence in parliament could help to revitalize political life in Egypt by encouraging reform within the NDP and other parties.

With all of the rhetoric about democracy now in Egypt, cheating in elections is an increasingly appalling option, even for those who think that checking the rise of an Islamist party is a noble cause. Indeed, it is hard not to be moved by the sight of hundreds unarmed voters risking violence and arrest to cast their ballots and have their voices heard.

Brotherhood supporters also stand accused of paying voters in some districts and engaging in violence in an election that was far from clean on all sides. But the Egyptian government’s refusal to accept the will of its voters did something for the Brotherhood it could not do for itself: it turned a group whose slogan is “Islam is the Solution" into the most powerful emblem of the nation’s desire for democratic change.

Mubarak Rally, Sept. 2005

With our blood
And our souls
We sacrifice for you
We sacrifice for you, Oh Mubarak!


Catchy, isn’t it? It is to me now, this simple chant, repeating over and over in my mind, reminding me of the feel of the democracy emerging in Egypt. I’ve just come from Mubarak’s last political rally in the campaign, Egypt’s first contested presidential election will take place in three days. Mubarak delivered a speech at the rally, but the crowd barely heard him. They refused to stop chanting their dedication to the president, arms high, waving posters and banners, shouting over one another and over Mubarak himself. “We love you Mubarak,” they chanted. “Gamal,” they chanted, addressing the president’s son and protégé. “Tell your father that we love him.”

The rally was called for 8 p.m. in one of the largest open squares in Cairo, the formal square around Aberdeen Palace, the last palace of the king. As we approached from the downtown area, security forces manned a metal fence, blocking off the road a few blocks from the rally. We showed our journalist credentials and got in, making our way with a steady stream of people past rows of stores to the rally entrance.

There were a bewildering array of security forces. Police in white uniforms, decorated officers in formal attire, security men in black bulletproof vests and in riot helmets, camouflaged-swathed army and Republican Guard types, suited undercover security forces. Thousands of men, arrayed in rows, most looking no older than 19.

Our first idea was to try to join the main crowd and come through the admission line. We joined a line pushing through a gap in the riot police, which led to a metal detector. The young men pushing past us wouldn’t let go of each other to let us through. Around the back of the event, where we were sent when unable to navigate this scene, there was little securely, but a long list, like a bouncer would have. Finally they found my name and let me through…no friend and translator though. We walked into the main rally space, climbed over a fence with the help of a few chairs and security forces, and put myself on my way.

From my archives

God, can't believe how much I had that I didn't write about. What was I thinking? How unsettled must I have been? Anyway, here's a journal entry from late 2005:
Visit to al-Azhar

One of the most unique aspects of my time here is that I am officially affiliated with Al-Azhar University. The oldest university in the Muslim world, it was officially founded in the 10th century, or four centuries after the death of Mohammed. In the 1950s and 60s, under Nasser, it was expanded to include more than just its ancient mosque and the training of religious scholars. There are two large campuses in the ‘new’ part of Cairo, Nasser City, the men’s campus housing 85,000 students; the smaller women’s campus with 15,000.

Only Muslims are allowed to teach and study at the school, though some foreign visiting teachers of different religions are permitted. The campus looks a bit like a 60s blueprint of a modern university, left to decay, with a wide central street, a fountain in a central median, and buildings lining each side of the road, which slopes gently uphill. There’s something vaguely Chinese about it, centrally planned. Not sensitive to the purpose of the place, not quoting of its ancient roots across town.

To enter the campus all women must wear headscarfs. At first, Im dropped off by the taxi at the Men’s Campus, because this is where I met my faculty advisor the last time. The guards are surprised, “This is the men’s campus” they keep saying to me. I throw on a loosely tied brown head scarf and insist that I am a student here. They let me in.

In the shade of a tree I watch the men stream on to campus. They look young, thin, and intense, but most are not bearded. Later I would see some wearing the al-Azhar uniform--a red fez, or Turkish hat, with a white band around the face. They wear sweaters and brown and black pants or jackets. Most carry one book only, or not at all. The main reason it seemed like a university is that everyone seemed to have a purpose and actually be going somewhere-not all that common in Egypt. And no one actually hassled me under that tree--perhaps it was because we were on religious ground.

After a while, I called my advisor, wondering if perhaps she had sent people to fetch me at the wrong gate. It turned out I was on the wrong campus--I should have gone to the women’s college after all. A guard helped me choose an appropriate minivan, and I threw myself ungracefully into the front seat. Off I went to the women’s school.

When it was time to get out of the van, a woman took my hand and led me across the train tracks, down a set of stairs, and voila, there we were. Amany, for that was her name, spoke to my teacher on the phone and agreed to lead me to her office. Under her headscarf, her blue/green eyes were truly beautiful.

On the campus, there was fabric flowing everywhere. Like butterflies with the occasional moth thrown in. Headscarves of every color and arrangement, long coats covering the body. And lots of nikabs--full veils covering all but the eyes, and sometimes the eyes too--more than I’ve seen anywhere in Cairo. It was hard to judge but about 1 in every 10 women was fully veiled. None of their teachers seemed to wear the nikab, just the students, in a kind of religious revival. And though it is a women’s school, there are some men on the faculty and on the staff, so they keep the things on, even in class.

The classrooms were packed, over filled with billowing women. There are between 70 and 100 students per class here in classrooms meant to hold forty or fifty. Somehow women in all this fabric seem to take up so much more space.

The students of my teacher all had their faces visible but one. They were not wearing makeup and looked coarse--nothing like the beautiful girls that seem to be everywhere at AUC. “I don’t like the nikab,” my teacher said. “I think it is misunderstood and often taken for the wrong reasons.”

She herself is like a kind grandmother, a wide, pretty face, in a headscarf tied in the old fashioned way, just around her hair, with her neck exposed and some wisps of hair hanging out. She has on an old sweater that comes down to her thighs and is reverse woven with many colors. Her feet are so swollen she barely fits into her shoes, she takes the stairs one by one. And yet when it comes time to leave she pushes her small car out of the space with me because someone parked so close too her that she can’t get in. “Its gotten so crowded here--so crowded!” she says, nodding her head from side to side. And if she gives you an order you are doing it.

What are they teaching them there? How does the women’s education at Al-Azhar in Islamic studies differ from what men are taught? What about women becoming muftis?