A cop on every corner

The morning after the removal of Morsi from power, I was astounded to walk down from my flat and see a white-uniformed police officer. After about a year and a half in Egypt, I could not recall seeing one before. As I walked to the gym, I was taken aback by how many there were now—not just one but a handful. Also some APCs, but that was a different issue. Citizens were going up to the officers, shaking their hands, thanking them for their service, and celebrating the ousting of the erstwhile president.

Today, over a year later, the police are still on the street. In recent months, there has been an uptick in checkpoints in and around Cairo. From my house to a location about twenty minutes away, I was stopped at two checkpoints. These checkpoints are often in the middle of busy streets, in the middle of rush hour. Traffic, already jammed, stops. What are they checking for? Ostensibly, terrorists. Since Morsi was removed from office, Egypt has experienced a wave of bombings and armed attacks, mostly aimed against members of the uniformed services. But there’s a sense of unease whenever I have approached a checkpoint, whether I am with a foreigner or an Egyptian.

On the ground, it feels like these checkpoints are aimed at you. You drive up and you get scared. What do I have on my phone? What do I have in my purse? It’s a similar feeling whenever I go through any kind of airport security here. One guy a few months ago was arrested for possessing a drone—a motorized helicopter toy for his kid. There are many stories like this, and after hearing them over and over, you realize it only takes one guy who decides your two laptops mean you’re a spy and ma’salama, hope you enjoy Egyptian prison.

When I first arrived in the early summer of 2011, I was at a grocery store and a policeman tried to cut in line. All the people behind him said absolutely not, you go back in line. He did. Hard to think that would happen now. Because the checkpoints are a show of force, a sign that we’re back to business as usual.

A few months ago, there was a break in in one of the apartments in my building. The victim of the theft, a diplomat at the Russian Embassy, hired plainclothes police to find out what happened (because, of course, regular police can’t do it). For days, random men sat in the lobby. One day, some random guy came up to me and asked who I was, what I was doing here, am I registered to be here, and wanted to see my passport. Random Egyptian man with no uniform—absolutely not. I asked to see his badge, which he did not show to me. He told me he was police only. He followed me into the elevator and rode with me to my apartment. He kept on asking these questions—and only of me, not of my fellow elevator passenger, an Egyptian. Not wanting to get my roommates involved, I gave him a photocopy of the passport when we got to my door, hoping that would be enough. Twenty minutes later, he and four other large, plainclothes men came to my apartment and rang the doorbell. Absolutely did not answer it—never would I answer the door with five strange men standing outside. But they stayed for a long time, kept on knocking on the door. It was threatening, and in no way would it ever be acceptable for five strange Egyptian men to go into a girl’s apartment. My roommate said they were just doing it to scare me—and it damned well did. I messaged my journalist friend who I was supposed to meet for dinner that if I don’t show up, he should write a story about how these guys were sitting outside my apartment. Only half-joking.

During the Mubarak days, these checkpoints were rampant throughout Cairo. Police would detain random people, torture them, and get them to admit to unsolved crimes. Or just detain them, disappear them for no reason whatsoever. And slowly, that feeling of invincibility of the uniformed services is coming back.

All of this is taking place during a time where press freedom is nonexistent. Local newspaper editors agreed a few days ago to not publish anything critical of the government—we are in a war against terror, after all. All NGOs will have to register with the government under a new law that critics say will infringe on the organizations’ independence, give the government undue sway over what they do. To be honest, democracy and human rights NGOs will be nonexistent or token in Egypt in about a week. Bassem Youssef and other lesser-know open-minded media folks, such as Yousry Fouda, have resigned, silenced by pressure from the government. Egypt’s human rights practices are under fire in the UN, and local human rights NGOs refuse to cooperate with the international organization, saying the pressure and threats they have received from the government is too great. Because what is a better way to convince the world “Egypt is open for business,” Egypt is “moving forward,” Egypt respects human rights than to threaten human rights activists. They talk about—and most likely do—monitor social media, the Internet. To actually see these changes taking place, to feel the fist of the state clamp down on the press, on activists, on any form of dissent or even opinions, is suffocating. 

The government announced plans to create civilian, neighborhood watch-type organizations with the power to detain. They ask people to inform. My friend today posted a story mildly critical of the government, and I commented, “You only say that because you hate Egypt.” He responded, “Don’t report me to the police.” Haha, funny joke.

Prayer of Fear

Prayer of fear by Mahmoud Ezzat via Mosireen.

Giving voice to those that support neither the military or the MB.

"The battle is murky...

...We stood like corpses, watching the massacre, the blood on our chests.
Are we winning, or in line for slaughter?
Is the question shameful, or is silence worse?
Should we scavenge the spoils, or count the corpses?
Did we open the way, or is the path destroyed?
Did the matryrs find justice, or do they weep in pain?...

...Can oppression be a gate to justice?...

...Whoever refuses to cheer divides us. A traitor, breaking rank, out of place."

Update from Egypt

I have been asked for an update on the news in Egypt. I am honestly hesitant to say anything anymore. Each time I write something, I get attacked for my point of view. Even when I'm not expressing my point of view, but rather recounting events, I am criticized. I'm not sufficiently pro-military in this us-versus-them environment. I'm not ikhwani, I'm not Al-Jazeera, but I've been called such by more than one person over the last few weeks.

On a personal level, what's going on makes me sad. I'm losing friends. I have Egyptian friends whose political points of view--they're all moderates--are vilified by friends and family. I'm disheartened  that I feel like I can no longer say I am uncomfortable with the killing of over a thousand people (some were armed, but many weren't), or the indiscriminate use of force, or arrests without charges, or military arrests of civilians, or crap charges against politically moderate or anti-military people (I guess I actually did say it. My apologies to everyone in Egypt who I just offended). Many are supportive of this because the actions are targeted against the Muslim Brotherhood and its supporters, whose opponents see as posing a threat to not only the Egyptian identity, state, and individuals.  My concern is that eventually the powers that be will turn on you too. SCAF was not exactly the protector of the rights of Egyptians.

Just to summarize, on August 14 the Egyptian security forces cracked down on Muslim Brotherhood sit-ins in Rabaa Adaweya and Midan Nahda. In the days that followed, over a thousand people were killed. The MB kept on having marches after the dispersal, during one of which there were reports gunmen shot automatic weapons across the 15 May Bridge, traversing the Zamalek enclave. There was a video that went around showing MB supporters pulling police officers out of their tanks and beating the crap out of them. The stories my journo friends told me about the scenes following the crackdown--I can't even recount them.

For awhile civilians went down to "augment" the security forces in fighting back against the MB. Any semblance of an independent media outlet here is shot. In one day, 36 prisoners were died from tear gas inhalation. They were apparently kept inside a military vehicle during the (incredibly hot in August) day and began pounding on the sides demanding air. Security folks shot tear gas into the enclosed space to quell the uprising. Later that night, 25 military recruits were executed point-blank coming back from leave in the Sinai. Churches left unprotected by security forces were burned by angry MB supporters. The military imposed a curfew from 7pm--ridiculously early--until 6am, which was later pushed back to 9pm and now 11pm as people stopped paying heed.

"Non-compliant" media is under attack--literally. The lead correspondent for the Wall Street Journal was attacked at a standoff outside a mosque by anti-Morsi folks; he had to seek protection inside a military vehicle.  A journalist for the official flagship newspaper, Al-Ahram, was shot dead at a checkpoint after curfew--despite the fact journalists are exempt from curfew. The military said he did not stop at the checkpoint, but his passenger said he was making a u-turn when killed. His passenger, also a journalist at Ahram, was detained after countering the official accounting of events. There were a few other journalists who were killed during the crackdown. Al Jazeera offices were raided and its journalists detained (Al Jazeera, affiliated or controlled or something by the Qatari government, is incredibly unpopular here for Qatari support of the MB and unbalanced coverage).

Liberal politicians and activists were charged with espionage (April 6 founder Ahmed Maher) and "betrayal of trust" (against Mohamed ElBaradei, Western darling and liberal politician). Yesterday there were reports of a dismantled bomb at a train station in Egypt's second city, Alexandria, and today a homemade grenade was thrown at a Cairo police station.

In general, things are relatively calm now. The MB have been unable to marshal much support. There are sporadic gunfights but life is slowly getting back to normal--normalish. People are depressed and many who can are leaving. And while things are calm, there will be serious ramifications for a long, long time. Hopefully masr will come out of this better than not only a few months ago, but better than three years ago. 

The not-coup coup

Yesterday was zero hour. The military had given the president 48 hours to fix, I'm not sure what to fix but basically everything, or they would introduce a "road map" to move the country forward. People gathered around 4:30pm to watch the expected military announcement. In true Egyptian form, the announcement was late. I went over to a friends house to watch the coverage. Walking over there, the streets were deserted. It was creepy.

Despite the official silence, slowly snippets of information leaked. The president had been told at 7pm he was no longer president. He and senior ikhwanis were placed under house arrest. The military moved its APCs, tanks, and personnel around major gathering sites on both sides and secured important  places.

Late at night, the head of the military, General Sisi, came on TV and announced what we all knew. The president had been removed from office, the head of the constitutional court would succeed him, liberal darling Mohamed El Baradei would be the country's prime minister, and the constitution--much maligned by the liberals and opposition--had been suspended.

Much of Cairo erupted in cheers. People ran around the city, honking horns, bleeping those damn vuvuzelas, shouting, "Masr!" and celebrating the power of successful political organizing and people power to realize change. 

Misr 25, the Ikhwan's TV station, and other Islamist-affiliated stations went black. Al Jazeera's offices in Cairo were raided. Understandably, the mood in the pro-Morsi rallies was reported to be despondent. 

When I woke up this morning, life returned largely to normal. There are still a lot of flags around, still a lot of honking--celebratory, not the normal Cairo honking. I met up with friends for lunch and am making plans for a pool day tomorrow. Here at the restaurant, people are talking about normal things. Twitter and Facebook may be alight with politics, but people are happy and want to enjoy themselves.

The police, absent for months, are now back in the streets. It's a miracle. 

There are a few signs, though, that we are living in a post-not coup coup. I walked by APCs en route to the gym. There are a lot of them on some of the bridges around here. Helicopters continue to fly overhead. 

Many Americans are leaving this weekend, partly because of summer vacation--foreigners flee during Ramadan and the summer months--and partly because of the situation here. I don't quite understand leaving now, though. Leaving before the removal of the president makes more sense. There is the possibility of the ikhwan lashing out.  If they are pushed underground, they will lash out violently. That threat will never go away, but foreigners and Egyptians alike cannot leave Egypt forever. These kind of threats are everywhere, in the US, in Europe--unfortunately today no one can escape them.

People are really pissed at America. Their anger deserves a blog posting on it's own, but I got into a fight with someone on Facebook who threatened Obama. Disagree with his policies, I don't care. But if you threaten my president I will kill you. 

Mass panic

On Sunday, Egypt's opposition movements are planning on holding major demonstrations against the Muslim Brotherhood-led government. An activist movement, Tamarod, Arabic for "rebellion," claims to have collected 15 million signatures demanding Morsi step down. The expected major demonstrations have been prefaced by a sort of mass panic. People here see 30 June, the date of the demonstrations and the year anniversary of Morsi's ascendance to power, as the last hope to save Egypt. The ruling party and its allies have done little to quell fears of violence, saying in one breath it would be open to negotiations and in another calling the opposition "kufirs," or "disbelievers," and vowing to meet violence with violence.

Perhaps more worrying, the opposition itself seems to be bent on violence. Without massive violence, they rightly surmise, there will be no political change. Only with massive violence will the army be forced to step in and take out the Morsi government--this, to many, is the optimal result.

I had a conversation today where I was asked if I was optimistic about 30 June. What does it mean to be optimistic, I asked. Would I be optimistic to hope for little violence--which would mean Egypt's politics stay the same--or optimistic to hope for violence and an overthrow of the government.

I, for the most part, expect a repeat of the clashes in December after Morsi's power-grabbing presidential decree. I honestly cannot picture Egypt descending into chaos--I use this as a relative term, of course. Many think it's already chaotic, although I think it's at an uneasy balanced point. Everything is constantly in flux, and yet nothing ever changes. It'll be ungodly hot, the opposition is divided, and thus far the Muslim Brotherhood says it will not go down on 30 June. They have so far allowed these protests to go on and let them die out--perhaps the smartest course of action in terms of international attention. The Muslim Brotherhood can point to the demonstrations and say there is increased freedoms, and the demonstrations eventual peter out.

Whatever happens, there is only a week for the change as Ramadan soon starts. No one will go down when they're hungry, tired, and hot (which I, selfishly, am thankful for, as my mom is scheduled to be in town).

But there are many expecting mass violence, blood in the streets. It's an existential crisis on both sides. The opposition sees the Morsi government and the Muslim Brotherhood in general as just as bad, probably worse, than Mubarak. They are utilizing religion to steal power, and the opposition wants nothing less than to overthrow the government.

The Muslim Brotherhood, however, is unlikely to give up power, as they too rightly surmise that negotiating, that stepping down would mean prison in the best case, death in the worst. Last month, a senior Muslim Brotherhood member's son was beaten to death in a small town in the Sharquia governate. The murder was in retribution for the son's alleged shooting of an opposition activist over a Facebook post critical about his father. Opposition also openly call for the assassination of the president and killing of his supporters, neither of which are conducive to negotiations.

All anyone here can talk about is what they think will happen. Most people expect massive violence. Our office is closed on 30 June and people are being told to stock up on food, water, and money with the expectation of empty ATMs. There are huge queues at the petrol station, caused partly by a disel and gas shortage, partly because people are panicking and trying to get as much gas as they can. My boss, worried about a crazy young female foreigner, is trying to get me to leave town.

Anger is boiling at the United States, which is perceived to have stood behind the Morsi government. On the one hand people say the United States has not come out forcefully enough for its values and against the government, and on the other hand say the United States has been too supportive of the Muslim Brotherhood and unwilling to stand up for its values and beliefs. In other words, the United States is at once perceived as doing too little and too much meddling. I am up to my eyeballs in anti-US sentiment, although I am yet to give up on trying to explain the United States' complicated stance.

People have said this all before, however, and nothing has come of the demonstrations. People have gone down, said their spiel, and gone home. Demonstrations were followed by isolated clashes at night, but life went on semi-normally. 

"They don't exist"

When I told people I was going on holiday to India, many asked me why? Why would I holiday from a country with horrendous traffic, pollution, and sexual harassment to another country with horrendous traffic, pollution, and sexual harassment? Why not something fun and easy, like Spain or Greece?

I love India. It's my home away from home away from home (the other two being the US and Egypt). I love the craziness, the colors, the sounds, and yes, even the smells (maybe not so much the BO but more the spices, the incense, the flowers).

So here I am, in India. I'm visiting a friend in Bangalore and we will go tomorrow to Goa and later to and around Mysore. We are spending a lot of time with her mother, who I love. She is one of the nicest, kindest people I know.

Earlier this afternoon we started talking about the men on the street. I told her how Cairo has obviously scarred me. I see groups of young men and I instinctively tense up. It's a bit difficult to breathe and I brace myself for some kind of altercation. This is not normal, but after being groped and dragged from a moving car in Cairo (why? I'm assuming because I had the audacity to walk on the street) one does tend to make these assumptions.

Both countries' media portray sexual harassment and assault in a light way. I've seen numerous Egyptian movies where a guy will be slapping, hitting, punching, shoving a woman and the scene is obviously meant to be humorous. Despite all of our flaws, I can hardly imagine sexual assault being portrayed in such a way in the States. Our movie stars may be hoochie mamas, but our sexual assaulters are always the bad guys. According to my friend's mom, many Bollywood movies are the same too.

Like Egypt, the society here is quickly becoming increasingly conservative. Where five years ago women could wear basically whatever they want, now many choose to dress more conservatively so as to not attract attention or be harassed on the street. This is most definitely the case in Egypt. During my parents' and grandparents' time, apparently women walked around Cairo in short skirts and tank tops. Now I change out of my work clothes--which by definition are not sexy and cover the mandatory knees and shoulders--to walk home many times. Instead of wearing pants, I'll wear a long skirt, for example.

My friend's mom said her maid likes it when her husband beats her--it means he cares. This is apparently a not uncommon belief among sectors of the lower class here. Men too believe women like being beaten. I have not hear this belief exactly in Egypt, but I would not be surprised were it common.

Like Egypt, there are plenty of motor scooters (although unlike Egypt, women ride on them and even drive the vehicles themselves). I noticed when a man and a woman would be on the scooter the man would always have a helmet and the woman would have no protection. I commented on this, saying I was surprised and would have thought the men would give up his helmet for the lady on the back, most  likely his sister, friend, or wife--someone dear.

"They don't exist," answered my friend Shruti, referring to the women.

On a lighter note, as I was writing this the power cut--just like in Egypt. Ahh. It's like I'm home. 

No camels, no green card

Walking through the streets of Cairo, especially in the more touristy areas, foreign girls are often propositioned--jokingly--for marriage in exchange for camels.  "How many camels?" the shopkeeper in Khan el-Khalili, the largest touristy souq in Cairo, will often call out with a laugh. It's funny, I laugh, shake my head and keep walking. They're not serious, they just want to get your attention and business.

I'm worth 8 of these animals. Apparently 15 if I was obedient.

This isn't a phenomena limited to Egypt. I've had the same thing happen in Morocco, in Jordan, in Lebanon, probably every Arab country to which I have traveled. They know foreigners have certain stereotypes of Arabs and are happy to play on it for a joke.

My landlord came by my flat the other day because a mohandis was to come over to fix my AC--which has been broken for over a week. Unfortunately, the mohandis' phone was closed so I had to sit in my hot living room with the landlord for an hour, entertaining him and making small talk.

The conversation took a bit of an interesting turn when he proposed, in all seriousness, that I marry is brother. Or son. I'm really unclear which. The man he would like for me to marry is apparently 35, living in Lebanon, and working as an accountant for the Saudi king. For me that's all kind of gross. Saudis. This man does not want to marry an Egyptian woman. They're apparently lazy and don't like to clean.

If I married this man, he wouldn't just give me a room, but an entire flat. I'd be set in Cairo, khalas. But wait, I thought. Didn't my husband-to-be live in Lebanon? Doesn't that defeat the purpose of marriage, living in different countries?

Could he have a photo of me to show is brother/son? He would give me a photo of the dude in return. He couldn't wait to call whoever this guy is and tell him he found a perfect woman for him in Cairo.

My landlord was incredibly sneaky about the whole thing. There was this entire lead-up to the arranged marriage and I didn't even realize what he was doing until it was too late. I was stuck. I had no idea how to nicely extricate myself from the situation, especially since he was a guest in my house and I couldn't think of a way to kick him out nicely.

One of my friends later asked why I didn't take my landlord up on the offer. There were no camels offered, I responded. My mom would never agree to such an arrangement without proper payment.

"No camels, no green card!"

Siwa: We made it there and back.

Barely recovered from my trip back to DC, my roommates and I used a long weekend to visit Siwa, a desert oasis near the border with Libya. It's the site of an ancient fort, or shali, and surrounded by date palms and fresh springs.

Amy and I with the shali in the background.

We took what we thought would be a ten-hour overnight bus ride (it was more like 12, as the bus left on Egyptian time and it took two hours to get out of Cairo) to Siwa and spent the first day climbing the fort, lounging by the springs and drinking fresh juice, and eating way too much delicious food.

Our view by a salt lake in the middle of the desert. 

The next morning we were picked up by our guide, Hamada, who was thankful to learn Amy knew how to drive stick. He was able to relax in the back seat while Amy drove us around in the desert for a bit. We drove for hours in a convoy, stopping occasionally when one of the cars would get stuck in the dunes.  Later in the afternoon, Hamada dropped us off by a big dune to go sandboarding--and drove away. He had gone back to the camp to prepare for dinner. It would have been a disaster had he not returned.

We spent the night in a desert camp and the next day went to the desert to the West, so close to Libya I was able to check in on Facebook to Sirte, Libya, the birthplace of the deceased Dear Brother Leader Mu'amar Ghadaffi.

Leslie, Amy, me, and our guides Ali and Hamada.

We arrived back in town around 6:50pm for our 8:00pm bus back to Cairo. That's when the real adventure began.

Earlier in the day one of our guides had told us our driver would stay with us until we got on the bus. After we arrived in town, he dropped us off at a restaurant to grab a quick dinner before the ride. Around 7:40, we had paid and went outside to look for him and get our things from the car.

We walked outside and he was gone. Semi-panicked, we turned to the restaurant guys and asked them to call Mohamed Bali, the driver. His phone was off, so they tried calling our guides and all of the friends of our guides (Siwa is a small place. Everyone knows everyone). All their phones were off--they were all in the desert. Around 8:15--after the only bus back to Cairo had left--we finally got a hold of Hamada. Our driver didn't know he was supposed to stay with us and went back to the desert.

Bags in hand, we went to the bus station to try to book a ticket to Marsa Matruh, a coastal city around 3 hours away. The guys at the restaurant were able to get us a ticket from there to Cairo. Unfortunately, there were no tickets on the bust to Marsa Matruh, and we would have had to spend another day in Siwa were we not able to get to Marsa Matruh.

We ended up in a car with one of the guys who works at the restaurant and a driver. After we got in, we realized this may not be the smartest thing we've ever done. Especially when they turned off the highway down a dark, deserted road. I turned to my roommates and suggested we ask them where we were going--they said if the two men were taking us to our doom, they were taking us to our doom. Khalas, there is nothing we can do.

While they were not taking us to our doom, but instead went to pick up some bottles to get through the checkpoints. It's easy for khawagas/infidels to get such contraband through. Again we realized this may not be a good idea--no one wants to get arrested for smuggling. Movies end poorly for stupid white folks like us.

After a very fast drive to Marsa, we got a bus ticket back to Cairo that left at 2am and finally made it to Tahrir around 715, exhausted and looking like we spent two days in the desert. Needless to say, when I got off the bus I heard no shabaab trying to holler.

Living a currency crisis

Throughout my SAIS years, I studied different currency crises, runs on the bank, lack of currency in the ATMs. Now I'm living it.

For months I've been reading about Egypt's draining currency reserves: the Egyptian government no longer has dollars to finance itself. It began an auction of US dollars to banks three times a week in order to halt the depletion of its foreign currency reserves. The Egyptian government also put controls on how much people can take out of the bank in hopes of halting currency flights, but all that did was freak people out. Everyone ran to the banks to get their money out and exchange it to dollars as the value of the Egyptian pound (EGP) plummeted.  Speculation--an economists nightmare--is that the value of the pound will continue to depreciate, from 6.7ish right now to 7 to even 8.

The value of the pound has lost nearly 8 percent of its value since December 30, 2012--man, I wish I took out all my money before Christmas--and has lost 13.4 percent of its value since the fall of Mubarak.

Political instability--looting of international chain hotels, riots, protests, stealing Army tanks, political violence--certainly isn't helping the situation.

A few weeks ago my boss went to the bank to try to get USD for her son, who is living abroad. The bank did not have--DID NOT HAVE--dollars (In better times, Egyptian banks give you the option of taking out EGP or USD).  She had to take out Egyptian pounds, take it to the exchange (aka black market), and take that back to the bank to transfer to her son's account.

Another one of my friends who is a teacher here, paid in USD, had her account frozen when the government announced the new currency controls. The bank would not let her have access to her own money.

Today, I had a meeting where one of the participants had a similar experience to my boss. The bank wouldn't let her transfer the value of an EGP account to USD, even within the same bank.

All this has done is freak me out.  I pay my credit card bills in USD! Uff! I will be going to the States soon--what good will EGP be?

Today, went to the bank to try to get USD. There were none.  I took out a bunch of money, brought it to the exchange, and got a rate higher than the official rate but lower than I'm hearing many people are receiving.

The speculation, the fact that everyone is having my reaction, is undoubtedly worsening the situation.

Poor Egypt.

This is why I went to SAIS.