My finest moment

I'm on a lovely holiday in Portugal. Over the last three days, just about everything has been great--the weather, the food, the wine.

I noticed a lot of harassment. The old men would come up to me. The young would say something under their breath as I walked by. I laughed it off initally--oh, nothing can be as bad as Egypt. Child's play.

Tonight, my last night in Porto. I went out to a great restaurant on the Douro River. Got a delicious octopus dish. Great scenery. The sun was setting. I finished my dinner and headed out.

As I walked out of the restaurant, three older men were sitting out and made a hissing noise as I walked by. Conditioned to this, I kept on walking. Halfway through the next restaurant, I stopped. Why am I putting up with this shit? I went back and thoroughly bitched them out. They said they were just trying to tell me that my eyes were beautiful. Blah blah blah. I can call the cops if I want.

I don't give a shit. I stood my ground.

Every woman who saw gave me the thumbs up. They can go fuck themselves. At the time I felt satisfied, vindicated.

After years and years of this shit, I finally said something. Even more, all these women were on my side.

About two minutes later, I stopped. I called my mother. Why is it that this is the norm everywhere I go? Why can't I go to the grocery store, or to a restaurant, or to the corner kiosk without getting hit on? Why is it that no matter where I go-- Egypt, Turkey, Portugal/Europe, Dc/USA, I'm never a person, but a woman? And even more so, why is it that every woman who saw this felt the same--yet none of the men did?

Years and years in Egypt, I would be harassed, followed, groped. You don't say anything--when you do, it escalates. It becomes physical. It's better to be quiet. When I resisted, I got dragged from a moving vehicle. But there's worse.

There was a girl who caught the headlines in Turkey. She was murdered for resisting rape.

I told my mom that I wish the men who acted this way would die. I wish they would experience a slow painful death. I wish that they could feel the fear, the pain of all the women gang raped. Murdered. I want them to feel the terror those girls felt. And seeing that written out is scary--the girl who never believed in corporal punishment.

The feeling of being a second-class citizen is overwhelming. My entire purpose of being is to please others. My eyes are beautiful, my ass is beautiful, and that makes me not even worthy. But, I'm there.

Is this normal? I don't even know anymore. All I know is I spent the last day in Porto on the phone with my mom. Never saw the sun setting on the Duoro. 

A tale of golden toilets

Turkey's parliamentary elections are around the corner, elections that could be considered the most important in history. Not only is the parliament in the balance, but the parliamentary system is as well. Ex-prime minister and current president Erdogan announced plans to turn Turkey into a presidential system (what a coincidence! Now that he's president, he wants to put all the power in that office).

An upstart political party called the HDP that was once considered aligned with Kurds and therefore terrorists/separatists but now gaining popularity across the board is in a position to potentially block this--if they reach the 10 percent threshold, Erdogan and his followers won't have enough support for the presidential shift. The HDP is going for inclusivity, fielding a roster of not only Kurdish activists, but socialists, religious Muslims, minority candidates including Roma and Armenians, and a transgender candidate. If they lose, however, the seats they gained will be divided between the winning parties, making the AKP even stronger.

Erdogan surrounded by his Ottoman-style guards

I am not convinced Erdogan will lose this election, even if he loses the vote. Funny business tends to happen during Turkish elections (like a stray cat who got into a transformer and cut the electricity right as vote-counting began in an anti-Erodgan area). He's made it clear he is in charge of Turkey and that he has no intention of compromise, let alone ever leaving. 

A man who was once considered a modernizer now surrounds himself with Ottoman-styled guards in a bizarre and controversial $615 million palace he built on what was meant to be conserved land. His rants about golden toilets are grabbing headlines here, rants that followed him daring those who opposed the construction of his palace to come down and take it from him. He has engaged in verbal warfare with both foreign and local journalists. He singled out the NYT for its coverage, calling it and its former Turkey head and "enemy" of himself and the state. He has sued a local journalist for coverage on shipments of arms from the Turkish equivalent of the CIA to Syrian fighters. That journalist has been threatened by the prosecutor general with a life sentence due to his "espionage." In rhetoric that echos Egypt, he accuses the NYT, CNN, and the BBC of trying to weaken and divide Turkey. While these accusations and actions border on farcical, the stifling effect can be felt. Whenever he speaks, the stock market crashes. 

Erdogan is everywhere despite the fact he's not actually running for office. His face, never a smile, looks down on us in the metro, on buildings, in tea shops. Election propaganda is technically banned from public transport, yet Erdogan's face beams down from buses and inside the metro. Erdogan, as president, technically is nonpartisan, although he admits to having the AKP in his heart. 

Some may pass this off as election season blovating, but I think he actually believes the stuff coming out of his mouth. He sees an enemy around every corner. He believes the opposition parties are conspiring against him (which, to be fair, is true as that is the entire point of being in the opposition). This is an election about him, not about Turkey, not about the Parliament. That his words aren't just rhetoric is what makes the situation so difficult. 

Fear

After a long hiatus, I'm back at the blog.

Last June, I returned to Egypt from Turkey. I was burned out from my job in Istanbul. I had no time to make friends or enjoy the city that people told me was awesome. I was generally unhappy. I missed my crew in Cairo, missed the sense of community and the way of life. Things are more difficult there, but at the same time more real.

After six months in Sisi's Egypt, I left and returned to Istanbul. I had been there for his takeover, but this time it was stifling. The cult of personality, the hostility toward those who did not accept the official narrative without question, became too much. People began to joke about being disappeared, informed upon, detained--jokes that are only actually funny when there's a chance it may happen. One day, traffic was stopped for a VIP on a major street in the middle of rush hour. The driver I was with started irately honking--the cabbie next to us half-jokingly told us to stop or we would all be detained. Friends would post things on facebook with the disclaimer "Don't inform on me" (haha).

One night I was out to dinner with friends and we started talking about politics. I told them to hush, to speak quietly. They thought I was being paranoid. We went home and read about how that day, journalists were arrested in a cafe downtown for the same crime. And don't even get me started about journalists. Journalists who do not have international attention--Al Jazeera guys--are left in prisons, forgotten, held indefinitely without charges and without any venue to justice. By virtue of being "only" Egyptian, of having the wrong passport. Of working in their own country.

I wasn't the only one who left. My Egyptian friends began to leave in droves--for masters, for jobs, for anything. Those who stayed largely disengaged from politics. It's the only way to stay sane, one former activist told me.

On the fourth anniversary of January 25, I came home from dinner with my friends, opened Facebook and Twitter, read about a peaceful protester getting killed by bird shot. Social media circulated a photo of her, blood coming out her back and mouth, a shocked expression, with a friend frantically grasping her waist. Later, we learn the police attempted to accuse one of her party members with her murder. Then the Muslim Brotherhood. Police refused to call for help for the shot woman, and also arrested those who tried to help her. They dragged the men away, left her dying, slumped on a plastic chair in the middle of downtown Cairo.

Now, her party members have been slammed with charges of participating in an unregistered protest, with up to six years in jail. This, as the likes of the Mubaraks and Habib al-Adly walk free.

I finished a bottle of wine by myself that night. Her death was the nail in the revolution's coffin.

It of course didn't end with me leaving. Ahmed Samih, the director of the Andalus Institute for Tolerance and Anti-Violence Studies, a leading human rights activist, was detained following a raid on his office. He is also the head of Radio Horytna and, incidentally, my first employer in Cairo. His case is just one of many in an attempt to stifle civil society. Radio Horytna is a nonpartisan, unaffiliated online news portal. Because Egyptian news is controlled by the government and total shit.

Egypt had become like that--an endless cycle of lost hope, repression, jumpiness. I would open the news and get angry every day. I would drive to my house from the gym--maybe 15 minutes--and get stuck in multiple checkpoints. When I was with Egyptian males, they would get pulled over and harassed by the police. The police were making the point--we are back, and we are back with a vengeance. Their presence was ostensibly about protecting the people, but in reality their presence is keeping the people down. I see that here in Istanbul too-tens of heavily armed police standing in the middle of Istiklal, a pedestrian shopping street, with their hands on their automatic weapons, riot gear in hand. Who are you protecting? Who are you serving? The people you are only too antsy to shoot?

Turkey recently passed a law allowing security forces to use live fire against protesters with firecrackers or anything like that. In the middle of the afternoon on Istiklal, surrounded by shoppers, tourists, and random passers by, I've been in the vicinity of a protest that erupted and firecrackers start going off. What is to happen then? Judging by the police's use of tear gas and water cannons (indiscriminate), I--and many others--are less than comfortable.

There are also reports Turkey just banned Facebook, Twitter, and YouTube. It's a losing battle, my friend. The information is out and people will always find a way to access it. You will just be chasing your own tail.

But when it comes down to it, who are these governments afraid of? What do they fear? Is it the very people they serve?

NOTE: I write this with recognition of the limitations and acts of violence of the police in my own country. I am writing about MY experience. I don't live in the US so don't accuse me of ignoring brutality elsewhere. 

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.

Erdogan, Erdogan all around: Turkey's campaign season

Campaign season is in full mode in Turkey, which is set to vote on its next president August 10. There is not much suspense over the result-- presently Prime Minister Recep Tayyip Erodgan will be president. Erdogan, who has been prime minister for the last eight years, looks set to pull a Putin-Medvedev.

Does that logo look familiar to anyone? Yes, we can. 

Visiting Istanbul over eid, the city was covered in huge Erdogan posters. Erdogan's image loomed over ancient aqueducts, over Taxim, along highways. You could not escape him. His publicly financed campaign rallies made headlines, his voice screamed from television screens. He even played in a football (soccer) match at the opening of an Istanbul stadium. The crowds roared as he scored goal after goal.

There were smaller posters seen for his opponent whats-his-face. Ekmeleddin Ihsanoglu's lack of a chance of winning is evident in the lack of airtime he his given. In the fact his image is unseen in Taxim. In the fact that he does not make crowds roar. His campaign rallies were poorly covered, with low public visibility.

The good "Profesor Doktor"

Ihsanoglu is a technocrat. He's had a successful career in diplomacy. He has little standing in domestic politics. He's got the hopes of a fragmented opposition resting on his distinguished, internationally-respected shoulders (remind you of anyone, Mohamed El Baradei?) I cringed when I saw one of his few campaign posters around--he called himself "Professor Doctor." Again similar to El Baradei's perceived elitism. Does the Turkish street care if someone is a "professor doctor?" Do they identify with "professor doctors?" Do they feel represented by "professor doctors?" My intuition is the answer to all these questions is a resounding "no."

Is Erdogan breaking the law? Campaign-wise, probably not. But that's not the point. You can follow the letter of the law and flagrantly ignore its spirit. You can have an unrigged election produce an undemocratic result when the cards are so obviously stacked against the opposition. Without breaking the law, without becoming a formal dictatorship, you can marginalize the opposition, squeeze them from the public sphere and secure your own position.

Before this year, I criticized my Egyptian friends for boycotting elections. This is why you guys aren't being represented, I said. You have to make change from within. You have to be in parliament, have to make yourself heard. You need an agenda and need to get into grassroots organizing.

But after this year... what's the point? Your voice will not be heard. There is no campaign rigging, but there does not need to be. There is no space for opposition. You're with us or against us. You're for a new Turkey or for a return to the past. Opposition figures are given less airtime. Their images and campaign materials are minimal or absent. The city is plastered by the image of the preferred candidate. Those who dare campaign for an opposite result face harassment and arrest. And perhaps most worringly, few see a problem with that.

I ask again, what's the point?

Is participating giving legitimacy to a sham? Or is it refusing to be marginalized? 

The day Twitter died

Last night, Twitter went offline here in Turkey shortly after Turkish Prime Minister Recep Tayyip Erdoğan told supporters at an election rally, "We'll eradicate Twitter. I don't care what the international community says. Everyone will witness the power of the Turkish Republic!"

And so it happened. Apparently Erdoğan obtained a court order allowing him to take the website down. Twitter, Facebook, and other social media websites have been the target of his ire since the Gezi Park protests for not only allowing activists to air their grievances and coordinate, but the websites have also been used to circulate a bunch of incredibly embarrassing leaked audiotapes. The audiotapes implicate senior businessmen and government officials, including Erdoğan himself,  in corruption. One tape alleged to be between Erdoğan and his son and fellow SAISer, Bilal, has Erdoğan telling his son to hide an incredible amount of money as anti-corruption operations ensnared those in his inner circle. The anti-corruption drive is largely believed to be orchestrated by the shadowy Gülen Movement, which the government claims infiltrated state institutions (I have apparently lived in Egypt too long because I think its not an unlikely possibility this is true).

Erdoğan says the tapes are "fabricated" but also says the Gülenists illegally wiretapped him and his associates and has not refuted the veracity of the content of the tapes.

On a statement published on the website of pro-government Sabah newspaper and translated by Al Monitor, Erdoğan said, "In the ongoing situation, Twitter has remained indifferent to remove certain links despite court orders favoring the citizens of the Turkish Republic. We came to [the] conclusion that in order to relieve our citizens, there is no way left beyond blocking Twitter, which disregards court orders, does not obey the rule of law."

The EU called the ban "groundless, pointless, cowardly."

Turkish President Abdullah Gül, often at odds with the prime minister and considered the more democratically oriented, sent a Tweet the morning after the ban saying he did not approve of the ban and instructed officials to examine legal ways of reopening access.

Turks were certainly relieved. In fact, the Turkish Twitterati quickly took to the social media website to fight back, posting with hashtags such as #twitterisblockedinturkey and #dictatorerdogan. This morning, I could not access Twitter on my phone or normal Google Chrome but was able to get on via a VPN. I didn't necessarily need or want to use Twitter, but if I'm told I can't do something, I'll do it.

Erdoğan apparently failed to get the message that khalas, it happened. The internet was invented. You can't stop it or the spread of information. Information is now open, available--democratic, if you will. Ban Twitter, ban Facebook, ban them all, ban the internet. The world has changed and people will find a way to get to access information.

I've been here for about two months now. There is definitely the feeling Turkey is at a turning point. About a week or so ago, a 15-year-old boy who was hit in the head by a teargas canister during the Gezi Park protests died after being in a coma for 269 days. Turks took to the streets in thousands in a show of support for Berkin Elvan's family and against the system that killed him. He had become a symbol of the opposition and the excessive use of force used against protesters. The police fought back with tear gas and water cannons. Public transport was closed that day to try to keep people from reaching central Istanbul, making my trip home interesting and full of tear gas.

Instead of recognizing the tragedy of a life lost, Erdoğan said the dead child was a terrorist, at first claiming he had a bomb in his pocket (which the security forces apparently kept secret for 270 days and only decided to publicize after the kid died) and later said he had a slingshot.

"The kid with steel marbles in his pockets, with a slingshot in his hand, his face covered with a scarf, who had been taken up into terror organizations, was unfortunately subjected to pepper gas," said Erodğan.

He even got a crowd to boo the dead child's mother, who had said it was not God who killed her son, but the prime minister.

"His mother says, 'My son's killer is the prime minister.' I know love, fondness for one's child, but I could not understand why you threw steel marbles and carnations into your son's grave," Erdoğan told a campaign rally.

She had left marbles in the grave.

There is also a narrative being told by the government that the international community just does not understand what is going on in Turkey--very similar to the narrative perpetuated in Egypt following Rabaa. In both cases, "they" just don't understand. This is a fight against terror and a fight to the death.

Municipal elections are coming up on March 30 and many Turks are holding their breath. A power struggle is playing out between the AK Party under Erdoğan and the Gülenists, with most Turks hostage and democratic ideas be damned.

Opposition leaders have cautioned their supporters against taking to the streets after the Twitter ban and the words against Berkin's mother, saying the government is trying to provoke protesters to justify a heavy-handed response and alienate opposition and their cause from the wider Turkish public.

Many young Turks I talk to have no idea who they will vote for in the elections. They do not like Erdoğan, but the opposition leadership sucks as well and is equally out of touch with the younger generation.

So we wait.

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."