وأخذت ت-تنكر وت-تنكر

25th of January, 2012. One year on, we're even stronger

2012-01-26T12:58:00.000Z

For the days leading up to the 25th of January, almost three weeks before it, my mind kept wandering between the first few days of the revolution, and the months that followed; reflecting particularly on all those personal moments tucked in the corners of my memory in full scent and flavor.

There's always little space to remember. Because all of us have so many memories. Yet, there's little space for nostalgia with so much to be done, and with that sense of responsibility both towards yourself - everything you promised yourself this revolution would be at the beginning of it; and every oath you took upon yourself when you saw someone get shot, counted a body in the morgue, or sat with the family of a martyr. Those responsibilities weigh heavily upon most of us.

Most of my most poignant memories are memories of feelings. A sense of conviction and purpose that completely overwhelms fear; a moment of fear that overwhelms any sense of logic or rationale; a strong sense of acceptance (and peace with) the possibility of death; an overwhelming sense of love; and a powerful togetherness. With each of these feelings is an instance, trembling with fear in bed, chanting amongst a sea of people, pumping your fist next to someone you love, breathing through tear-gas, making new friends in a protest, phone-calls with families of the missing that drag for minutes or hours, even when there is nothing to say.

On the few days before the revolution the memories cascaded before me like a constant reel of film, some i'd forgotten, some reproduce to dwell upon, and some i'd never forget, though i wish i could.

And yet somehow, yesterday all the nostalgia faded in the strength of the marches that overcame the experiences of all those before them and fulfilled the promise, the hope, and the yearning for a continued revolution. Ofcourse it continues :) And ofcourse we celebrate the power of our togetherness.

After days of intense dilemma, as to which march we'd join, Yahia and i had narrowed it down to four marches (the dilemna started with two) the night before the 25th. I usually feel marches are strongest and most exciting in populous areas, and Yahia felt they made most sense when we are with people we cared about. So that narrowed it down to Shubra (where started on the 25th last year), Imbaba (where we had friends and worked closely to the popular committee), Maadi (where we lived and thus had a sense of responsibility to mobilize), and Mostafa Mahmoud (where 'everyone' was going to be).

We finally decided to start with Maadi, hop to Imbaba and meet up with Mostafa Mahmoud; what better way to celebrate the 25th of January, than march-hopping :)

We started with the Maadi march at ten am, where hundreds were already gathered, including my parents, my aunt and my cousin, donned stickers, and debated what we should do with #SCAF whether we want power handed to parliament, or presidential elections first, and chanted after passerby's in cars that would pop out to lead us.

We started the march through Hassanein Desouky, Ahmed Zaki and 3arab Maadi in general, and within minutes, it was difficult to make out the beginning of the march, and we were no longer near the end, as we were when we started.

There is something to be said about starting a march from where you live. To explore the geography of your community on foot, to take over the roads, to have a sea of people fill the bridges and spill into roads and alleys, to see windows and balconies full of people adn to interact with everyone. It's like things are turned inside out. Time stops, the chants make the discussion general and inclusive, and you start discussions despite age or gender or class or any barrier that usually hinders one. Like barriesr are temporarily suspended as the space we occupy is somehow, completely shared.

It makes it easier for people to join a protest and roar opinions since there are many of us; and those in doubt can stop and think for a while...or they can ask.

Cab drivers took stickers and fliers from us and stuck them on their windows, and shop owners cheered us on. We did occasionally get the growl, but it was much less than any other time.

We then spilled into midan saweras, and up the maadi bridge, as we marched up and reached the peak, we saw below us the sea of people that was the march come from Helwan, raising their flags of resistance high.

Our spirits soared and our chants echoed through maadi as we joined forces, and made our way out to the corniche.

We walked all 17 kms from Maadi on the nile, through corniche el maadi, el malek el saleh, masr el adima, el manial, qasr el einy and garden city. We were mostly cheered by public buses, truck drivers, taxi drivers and workshop owners. People waved their flags from balconies, and except for one person who waved us dismissively, almost everyone i encountered was supportive. We got prayers, thumbs up , victory signs, people joined in chants, or promised to join us at night when they didn't hop on.

There were many many families in most marches i imagine, as the revolution is , as always, a family affair, but there were also many children under 5 in stickers and flags,and pig-tails, pumping their firsts and chanting along, especially to ' yasqut yasqut 7ukm el 3askar; ehna el shaab el khat el a7mar' - "Down with military rule; we the people are red lines..'

I imagine that this is a 'feast' or anniversary or occasion like no other. Most occasions we celebrate are in remembrance of one event or other in history whose significance wears with time, but we still celebrate in ritual or need of family warmth. But this is different. This is in (not remembrance) but actual celebration of something we ourselves 'established'. That is our coming together as a people, our power over any system we hire to rule us; and our refutal or those who come to power without our permission.

Every year on the 25th of January, we will come out, with newer generations, and they will continue the rituals, not because they need to make sure they remember. But because to them, this is a reality they were born to, and a ritual that makes perfect sense. They will come out (at least) once a year in millions, where all barriers will be suspended and all our 'public' spaces will become joined spaces, and we will chant and sing, our discussions and disagreements and agreements.

We will get excited as we march under bridges and tunnels, raise our voices high so they echo around us and fill us with strength. We will chant loudest when we are on top of bridges and in alleys, when we know our echoes will ripple throughout the neighborhoods we are in, and shake the insides of every house, reminding those who thought not to leave them, how strong we really are. No matter where you are on the day, at home, in bed, on the streets, in a march, in a shop; the chants will ricochet around you, so they become your reality. We the people are a red line, egypt will not be ruled by a military, we will not forget the blood of our martyrs, there is, in fact, a revolution in each of Egypt's streets.

Last year 'thawra thawra 7atta el nasr, thawra fe kul shaware' masr' ; "a revolution in every street in Egypt" may have been more of a call; this year the chant was a celebration, a celebration of the existence of the revolution in each of Egypt's streets.

We finally made it near tahrir, on its very outskirts, and the front-lines stopped the march to announce that there was no way tahrir would encompass our march, the beginning and end of the sea that we were were difficult to make out, and the square and its surroundings were already full to the brim. Qasr el nil bridge before us, was a sea of people itself. We imagined it must be another march, that perhaps once it passed and assimilated into tahrir there would be more space for us. Within minutes however we realized that it was not a march; but a spill over from tahrir. Downtown, was completely jammed with all its squares adn bridges.

The revolution has outgrown tahrir by far. Tahrir became that space we knew we'd meet. It became the space we went to, to think, to create that imagined community, that alternative we all dreamt of. It became the space where we practiced and experimented with different forms of organization, rule and co-existance. But now those spaces exist in each of our neighborhoods, through the popular committees, and other countless initiatives and forms of activism.

Tahrir was a symbol, and a centre we needed to hold us together. It will always be that symbol; but this revolution has been one that has constantly chipped at our whiffs of nostalgia. There is little space for nostalgia when there is so much work to do. And when every point is more glorious, invigorating and emotionally saturated than the moment that preceded it.

Every past revolution and past moment is remembered with the necessary criticism. ANd every win is overwhelming at the moment it is made, even when we tend to bring our wins apart, as if that is the only way to remember that we still have far to go.

We do have far to go, our dreams and ambitions cannot be encompassed by any square, individual, party, and words and verses constantly fail us. But we, as a people, have not relented for a moment since this time last year. The struggle has rippled and multiplied in every street and neighborhood and every house.

We argue and disagree as to the extent of how 'radical' or how 'revolutionary' or 'reformative' or 'peripheral' or 'relevant' all the different battles are; but the truth is this; they are all battles, individual, collective and communal, they are all groups of people that have gotten together to roll their dreams out and fill their lives with those possibilities.

Egypt has become a sort of theater. We are still in that relatively suspended realm where we can be anyone we want to be. We experiment with different forms of ourselves, with different dreams, and different friends and different ideologies, and we experiment with all the different ideas of what Egypt could be like. We test our dreams against all our different realities. In some instances they are tainted and we take them back, and in others they rub against people and magic and grow and multiply and extend until they are beyond our own imaginations.

That we have kept this up, this sense of possibility, this sense of agency this sense of peoplehood, that this momentum has multiplied, that we now have all these choices of what to do and who to be and how to continue the struggle, is breathtaking to behold.

There is so much to celebrate. That i can step down and join the revolution downstairs is one of them. That the dream is shared by so many people i know and don't know is another. That i don't have to trek out all the way to Tahrir to dream up the alternatives is yet another. That i find it very difficult to express myself in english as opposed to arabic, is a personal other :)

The revolution is everywhere. The revolution is all of us, and the revolution is each of us :) The sense of responsibility is layered and multiplied yes, but so is the amount of magic, possibility and hope that rises up like a tide and envelops us, every time our fears and anxieties threaten to overwhelm us.

We won't ever forget, we no longer need to fear that. Now let's celebrate who we've become, and take the struggle further, nostalgia and squares, and centers aside :)

الناس الصغيرة لما كبرت - On Alaa - the friend i miss

2011-11-14T02:22:00.002Z

I think of Alaa alot these days - there is the obvious reason why i may, bas also because i miss him as a friend.

I think of him especially when i feel my heart tug to the weight of all the heartache behind the revolution. I think of when i called him towards the end of January. When all was in question, and many many people had died. What if we were suppressed, i asked? What if we couldn't avenge their deaths?. "E7na beneksab!!" he kept shouting on the phone; 'We're winning' - he couldn't understand how anything i might have seen or experienced could undermine that. 'E7na ba2eyna thawra' - we've grown into a revolution.

I think also of how the last time we had a discussion he was saying maybe the reason that masses had never mobilized for our protests since 2005 was because we always talked about the 'constitution', 'freedom of speech/press', the judiciary... all things that were irrelevant to people because the system, state and structure as a whole was illegitimate. When the call was for the toppling of a regime - something we may have deemed possible, but possibly far fetched, a population took to the streets. We, the people, are more radical, than radicalism. The masses mobilized when the cause was worthy, and that one was.

I'd known of him and Manal for long before we actually met in 2005 - where i constantly heard about them from a common friend - we all shared a dream of developing a camp or alternative school of sorts for kids. There we'd reverse the effect of schools, bring in an explosion of art, critical thinking and maybe a light infusion of all those values behind ideology. Or in short, a bit of socialism.

We decided to meet regularly, or salma to introduce us, but it never really happened.

In 2005, i joined the May 25th protests, was attacked as a woman, as a girl, as a person, as a protestor, and as some one who wasn't allowed to vote against amendments. It became personal. After the ugly protest i roamed the city with Nora younis, out of one surreal meeting into another. We discussed the day with everyone from the cabs we rode with, to the people we met with, tried to work on people who were arrested, and made friends with a felucca sailor who said that 'el nas el soghayara' (the little people) always pay the price of trying to play politics.

The day ended in Hisham Mubarak, where i met Alaa's dad - Ahmed Seif. A man I learn so much from, from afar. On a day that was cold and confusing, where i was hurt in many different ways, he felt like a warm hug. He had been hurt himself, had been to jail for 5 years, had been tortured, but emerged out of it with a stronger faith in justice somehow, and a life devoted to it.

I know his years in jail were not easy on Alaa, and that is the thought that makes the idea of Alaa in prison most painful to contemplate. He would not have wanted his son to be born without him. But i have no doubt that he does this, because he would not want a son born to a father with anything less than complete integrity. In this way, in his living up to his chants that SCAF is not fit to rule, by refusing to be interrogated by them; he is true to himself, and true to the man that Laila Soueif and Ahmed Seif have brought up. He is also true to Manal in whom he looks for himself and mostly to Khaled Alaa Ahmed Seif Abdelfattah, who will come to the world roaring with pride.

Khaled will forever be told the story of how his father was in jail when he was born - his father whose love for his mother is as famous a fact as Alaa's own activism. That he would risk a moment so special for something as real as the sense of justice, and integrity. To be consistent through and through.

So i left Ahmed Seif on that 25th of May astounded, inspired and filled with resolve. And i wrote this note. http://tinker-thoughts.blogspot.com/2005/05/el-nas-el-soghayara.html

and it somehow made its way to Alaa, and he got in touch with;

"Hi Alia,

salma beblawi forwarded me your El nas el soghayara piece, I loved it.

I don't know if you know about blogs and the small but growing Egyptian

blogging movement (check http://www.manalaa.net/egblogs and

http://www.egybloggers.com). hell maybe you're even part of it already

who knows.

anyway I wanted to check is El Nas El Soghayara is published anywhere on

the web, and if not to invite you to publish it somewhere for more

people to read it.

cheers,

Alaa"

'Blogs and blogging' were still a thing you may not know about in 2005 :)

The email turned into a discussion and one in particular about his father Ahmed-Seif. He talked for a bit about how his father being in jail dispersed the conditions of bad guys and good guys for him as a child...

He explained some of the confusions: his father was in prison 'but' he was good/ 'so' he was good'? Cops put him in prison, so were all cops bad? or were some still good/necessary? Ahmed Seif is still in touch with his prison guards, and talks to them like buddies, and they always want to do him favors. But weren't they 'baddies'?

I can't imagine grappling with such questions as a toddler, when you would still proudly announce when someone asked you what your father did for a living with "He's in jail :) ". Laila Soueif then taught him to say "He's a political prisoner", and not merely 'in jail'. Still alot for a five year old to muster, i imagine.

Handling such complications perhaps explains Alaa's deep-set notions of justice and radicalism and right and might. But they don't, because somehow at the end it boils down to something really simple. In that first exchange of emails in 2005, he explained Ahmed Seif a bit better:

"thats the thing with my dad he is not sacrificing, he is not doing any

thing special, to him its a normal thing and I suppose this is what

inspires everyone. you don't need to be special, courageous, strong, or

anything like that, you just need to be good."

Look who you've grown into ya Alaa :)

While 'just being good' is what drives Alaa to be brave; what drives me , certainly is being surrounded by family and friends and the bubble of trueness of intent that they create. I've been lucky these last 6 years as my life has been a constant production and reproduction and affirmation and reaffirmation, that all that is ideal can be real, and all that is good is possible and all around us.

I cannot begin to describe what it means to be in a revolution with your husband, your brother, your father, your mother, your aunt, your cousins. Death shrinks in insignificance. And the risks you take you internalize, and they become you, and part of all your lives. Needless to say, bravery, legitimacy, protest, chanting, revolution it all, all becomes about love. All the love you've ever felt or wanted to feel floats out of you and binds us all as 'us'.

I can't begin to imagine that Khaled has been conceived of this :) And that he will be born into a world of ideals, the best time of our lives, where all our focus and all our energies are focused unto being good, and proving that this IS a world where we will be.

(Alaa is also someone i love because he reminds me it's ok to be corny. that i manage to say 'fluffy' things in a way that matter. in honor of this reminder - and him being the only person who encourages me to be like this, i let it all through ;))

Why the Egyptian Revolution matters to us all..

2011-11-10T13:00:00.001Z

In http://theoccupiedtimes.co.uk/?p=617

If the occupations that have sprung up across our globe are indeed inspired by Cairo’s Tahrir Square (as we say they are), then it is worth mentioning that a number of people who were crucial for the organization of the Tahrir Square demonstrations are now behind bars. In fact, over 12,000 of them have been imprisoned.

The Egyptian military has practiced systematic violence against protestors since the beginning of the revolution. Covert at first, repression escalated when the security services fired into crowd that had gathered in Tahrir Square in April. Particularly, they targeted a small group in military uniform who claimed to be splitting ranks and had come to the square for protection. In June, the military attacked a protest by the families of those killed during the revolution. In August, the square was forcefully evicted.

The strongest blow, however, was on October 9^th, when hundreds of protestors who marched in solidarity with Coptic Christians were attacked in a night of bloodshed and violence. Twenty-eight peaceful protestors died, hundreds of others were injured.

The army announced its investigation into what became ‘The Maspiro Massacre’, and within two weeks summoned activists and bloggers Alaa Abdelfattah and Bahaa Saber to be interrogated as suspects for the violence that had occurred. Mina Daniel, an activist shot dead on that day, was designated as the prime suspect for inciting violence. Essentially, Mina was being accused of his own murder.

Abdelfattah and Saber refused to be interrogated by a body they deemed illegitimate. They argued that the military was too implicated in the violence to be able to properly investigate it. As a result, criminal charges (of inciting violence and stealing military equipment) were levelled against them. While Saber was let out on bail, Abdelfattah was detained for 15 days pending investigation.

Has anything changed since Mubarak, one asks? As a matter of fact, much has.

More and more arrested bloggers and activists are refusing to appear before military courts, demanding civilian trials where their cases will be considered objectively. For this, many pay with their freedom. But they insist they will not answer to an illegitimate body. We are not afraid to say it: the Supreme Council of Armed Forces is not fit to rule.

In Mubarak’s era, we were an opposition movement. We operated in the margins, creating spaces for dissent in make-shift theatres and online blogs, where we practiced our vision of democracy. Our spaces grew wider and wider until a nation revolted against tyranny and our vision took centre-stage. As the rallying cry of a popular revolution, our vision has legitimacy. Since January, we could no longer be branded as a marginal opposition movement. The only illegitimate body in Egypt today is the Surpreme Council – it rules but fails to deliver justice.

A ‘No to Military Trials’ campaign is one of many grassroots initiatives that have developed since the start of the revolution. It mobilizes lawyers and campaigners whenever protestors or civilians are arrested and tried by the military. The campaign demands fair investigations and trials. It is one example how we have taken justice into our own hands. While the military continues to lose legitimacy, civil society is trying to fill the void.

Alaa Abdelfattah is an activist, but also a friend. I personally believe that his incarceration is not only on account of his bravery, but is a reaction of the authorities to his incessant description of the revolution as ‘an opportunity to dream’. In one meeting a few months ago, he announced: “We have achieved the impossible and surprised ourselves…we have the opportunity now, like no other time to dream up our new country. Let’s not wait for experts and technocrats tell us how to do it. For, they have already failed us and we have done what they could never do.”

What connects Tahrir to Occupy Wall Street and Occupy London is our ability to create spaces to develop our dreams. Within the squares and the camps, we can imagine a different world. We can dream up alternatives and experiment with them in our daily practices. We meet people whom we would usually never meet, and tickle and trigger each others’ imaginations. This ability to dream, to imagine that another world is possible, is the biggest threat to any establishment, more so a military junta.

We are all implicated in the global web of power that works to keep us apart. A dream in one country is a threat to the world; and a threat to one dream, should mobilize us all in support of the alternative. Only then will our dreams prevail.

Occupying London, Anarchy and Making it all up as we go along

2011-10-15T19:57:00.005+01:00

Just back from the London stock exchange occupation, and it was a much more refreshing experience than i had anticipated it to be. My initial motivation for going was protesting army brutality in Egypt on Sunday. Armed with 'whose afraid of the arab revolutions?!' ; 'Who's behind funding murderous military ' and a very secret and internal 'egypt is not london and london isn't egypt' , i hoped to create an egyptian corner. Thankfully no one was really interested and friends i met before felt it wiser to connect all causes together, so we went with the first two slogans as well as others such like 'we the 99% from Cairo to London'.

What was refreshing however is that it almost felt like home. The random conversations struck up with different people you have nothing in common with, and suddenly so much more. Discussions of all we feared, and the anxiety of not knowing alternatives.

A man came to ask 'Is this an anti-capitalist demonstration' and a woman next to me felt she needed to be honest and that she hadn't decided she was anti capitalist yet. "I would be..." she explained, "but i wouldn't know what to do without all...well...these 'things'..." and she pulled out random items from her bag "i want choice". Another person went on critiquing the alternative 'communism'. And the argument between prospects and policies associated with all 'ism's brought forth ensued.

Then there was the next most popular question of 'should we really be bringing something apart without having a clear alternative?? shouldn't we structure a comprehensive alternative first'. This is when i explained that these were the very questions that held us back from a revolution for decades.

I loved how the fears are universal. People are exhilarated by the possibility of a possibility of an alternative; but the lapse of the current world is just so unthinkable, that an alternative is unimaginable.

But that's mainly because we're stuck in so many dichotomies? Does it need to be this or that? Can't we think up a whole other socio-political-economic system that works for us. Start with things we lack the most. How can a system of government(nance) be more accountable to its people - what ideologies/or simple ideas can grant or garauntee social justice..

We always find ourselves stuck in this fear of not having a fool-proof and comprehensive system to propose instead of the existing one. When the existing one has taken years, if not decades to put together. Not to mention that it is at that point in the cycle of coming together where it is disintegrating.

In a 'process' work-group, we were trying to discuss and debate different ways of decision making. Very much like the first few days of the June sit in in tahrir, there was a huge debate as to whether the known mechanisms, systems of representation, voting and consensus should be used; or if we should opt for that which is the more radical and experimental. The alternative that we don't know yet. Experience shows that experimenting with alternative means of management and decision making, takes much much more time. And much learning as we go along. Whereas falling on ways we 'already know' is much more effecient. But if we can't experiment, and go out on a limb a little in spaces that are already radical and 'outside the system' like these, then were can we?

We have to remember, i feel, that these spaces are not only spaces where we stand (or sit) to get a certain message across to the government; they are also (and more importantly, i feel) spaces where we meet with people we'd never usually meet. People we have nothing in common with, but much in common with on that particular point in time and space where we met. It's where we can discuss the similarity of our discussions, be blatantly honest about our fears, and experiment with our relationships with each other and the bigger society. It's where we learn about all those of us the world is made up with. I sat 'retelling' all the tales that Fox and BBC had already volunteered about the "latest deadly sectarian clashes between muslims and christians in egypt". I also got much insight about the situation in iran, and what the truth behind the crumbling of the NHS may be. Lots of really interesting ideas about the question fo the importance of decision making in teh first place arose in the 'process work-group'. Do we really need to deliberate and make decisions all teh time? Must we be presented with a dichotomy? To do this or not to do it? Or can we decide in layers. Start with a very thin and simple proposal and pass it around and see how it grows.

Julian Assange came in, lightly, humbly and cheered by the world, he came in through the crowd and to the top of St Paul's stairs. He gave a little speech and warned that (and i improvise as i can't remember exact words) "We are being held hostage to the rule of law - we should be less concerned with obeying the rule of law, and more concerned with making laws that govern us all , equally' . Us and them i suppose. But we are beign held hostage to many things. All of them our fears.

Our fear of no longer having access to running shoes and a wide array of chocolates and medicines, our fear of bearded men in short galabeyyas and their say in our lives; our fear of militias; our fear of making less money; and our fear of a temporary period of instability. But much like each of our personal lives, i feel it's those moments of societal instabilities that make us who we are. They stop our lives, shake us, our beliefs adn understanding of things; and suddenly everything is temporarily not as it ever was, and for some brief moment it can be anything, anything at all.

But the key is to take it one step at a time; for to construct it all straight away could only mean falling back on all we already know too well , or risking that. What comes to mind to me, is the popular committees taht arose at the start of the revolution to protect public property, organized to manage traffic and help calm people when the army came out and was overwhelmed and useless; and eventually developed into forms of community governance. Keeping security up, creating a group to monitor prices in markets and make sure they stay reasonable; starting campaigns to pressure municipalities to collect garbage etc. They grow in credibility, in numbers of people and governors will have no choice but to become accountable to them. One day they may replace the idea of a governer's governance and present the idea of an elected municipality, accountable to its community.

We're all afraid of disorder, but a little anarchy may mean we get a chance to explore the possibilities and try to organize in a different way. A chance at a stronger more sustainable sense of 'order'. I think , ironically, we have it in us, inherently. Revolutions are all about faith. Faith in the possibilities of an alternative future, and faith in ourselves as a people. Only then will we not be held hostage to law, order, and the other that surround us on a day like today.

We shouldn't expect ourselves to be ready with alternatives - that would be ruining everything. But we can definitely make it up as we go along, liberating our imaginations and building our alternative worlds, one step at a time. The most challenging revolution is the internal one, and the most euphoric moment is when we surprise ourselves.

Ruminations from one revolution to another

2011-10-03T21:21:00.003+01:00

Since i've come to London - perhaps it is the distance, i have lots of dreams, nightmares, daydreams, flashbacks and many other instances, where i'm catapulted back to the more intense days of the revolution, and most often, or more particularly on the 28th.

I guess it's most probably because there wasn't ever the luxury to reflect or ruminate in Cairo, partly because there was constantly 'no time' , and partially also because everyone has been through what is equally and if not definitely more difficult, talk about an instance often turns into a competition of instances, and so reflecting on anything that is not the present or the future, feels at times dishonorable.

I've tried to avoid this trip 'away' for a long time, bas felt weighed down with the guilt of all the stories i've collected, the workers who built the dam, the Nubians displaced by it, the resistance of Porstaid of 1956, and people who resisted (and continue to resist) in suez from 1967 - 1973. Theirs are also stories that were silenced in a military-state written history; somehow in the question for 'national independence' one straight, creased out story had to be told, and the creases and folds and contradictions of a glorious state, and the stories of a people's resistance that did not always feel honorable fell out. There are also the everyday stories we now know well, of the fears and suspiciouns, the moments of weakness, the inability to unify against a common enemy that i felt people needed to get off their chest... My relationship with the generation of the 50s, definately changed drastically in the interviews from before the revolution to after.

Before the revolution i was a grandaughter. There was a strong sense of responsibility towards me - a girl coming 'all the way out here' we llewa7daha! in pursuit of el 3lem el akhruh taweel... that is no to mention that there was this general air of disapointment towards a generation not interested in how the highdam that provides their lives with light and internet was built, and the 'true story' behind why and how the English left and who chased them out.

After the revolution i became a comrade of sorts :) I came to represent a generation that was 'not so bad afterall' poets of the 50s and 60s wrote poems of apology towards the generation born in the 70s-90s. Part in apology part in encouragement , that the revolution must continue, and part also in warning, for we are a mutahawereen generation after all :) I felt the significance of the poems were not only about an ehda2 (i am late to post them but will do so soon), bas also that Kamel Eid who wrote those poems to encoruage the resistance in the 50s and 60s, will have also acknowledged our own resistance in 2000s. So it's not only about comraderie, bas this decision taht history should be a continous stretch.

My quest becomes not to write a history of 'us who are forgotten by it' , but to continue el masaar - 'write so they know how we did it'. hehe

Tab3an all this comes with the natural guilt that i may not necessary write what everyone expects me too. That is besides the fact that the Arabic translation of this dissertation is expected well before i even expect to finish the PhD!

All said, i cannot claim or conjure enough humility to be any less than honored to be doing these interivews. Post-revolution interviews have also warranted alot of trust i may not have been granted before. LIke giving me a peek into their diaries.

The diaries tell so much of the ordinary. Like, how 'scary' something was. How the sudden rain pours on the 5th of November, 1956 put out a fire started by British paratroupers that was anticipated to envelop Portsaid. I was told, secretly in a whistper, by many how this was actually a miracle. "You needn't write it down.. i know it's silly, but i went up to the roof stood in teh rain, and feel to my knees and prayed.. my father in law was a priest and he led us in prayer... all around you you could hear prayers from all the different religions and voices that made portsaid.. but miracles have no place in history..."

I heard the story of the miracle, and the weeping, by two others only, and both told me i could delete it off the recording. I've always relished the insignificant details people tell me in interviews (like when they fell in love, when they got drunk and lost in Russia when they were sent for training, when their loved ones died, or moments when they were terrified and did something dishonorable when arrested). I felt/feel those 'irrelevant' moments, were those who catapulted me into their lives, into the period, and lately, also helped me familiarize with them. In Madam Gizelle's diary entry, she took me through the details of the Cairo fire on the 26th of January 1952. When she talked about it in more detail after reading the entry, i found myself debating the fire and discussing it like it was teh fires on the 28ht of january 2011. I actually got carried away until she had to correct a geographic detail htat made me realize she and i were discussing events 59 years apart - almost to the day :) It was eerie. More so kaman as Madam Gizelle was 28 years old on the 26th of January 1952 - almost exactly as old as i was on the 28th of January 2011. And all the more because she went to an english school and our memories threaded in and out of different languages. We spoke in arabic when recounting el hetafaat and certain details and in english when lost in ideas, memories and reflections.

All this tab3an makes me regret deeply not working harder on keeping a diary during events. Something i think we all should. I tried a few times in January - but holding a pen/pencil could never be so difficult. There was never anytime, and when i did, my hands hurt like it was the winter cramping my muscles.. though it felt like something more. I inscribed short sentences on whatever pieces of paper i could find. The few words i wrote in very crooked handwriting said very little, but exhausted me emotionally to write. As if in writing i would be admitting that which i cannot afford to write about.

On the 25th - any writing was optimistic - something was starting, had started, and we would be in it and with it till the end , regardless of what that end would be; our very own, or anyone else's. From the 28th onwards , and particularly on that day it was uncertainty. So my diary entries read exactly that : "Uncertainty, i don't know what's going to happen. trying very hard" or "the army. the army's in the streets", or " i really don't know".

An untitled diary entry in mid february read " Death makes all things personal".

On the 28th of January i went to Alexandria. On the 25th of January as night fell and it seemed the media and journalists pulled out, and as our phones stopped working, 'we' knew something was going to happen. The decision to spend the night had been blown through us, a conviction whispered iwth all our hearts and sealed with the the 3 boys trudging around and through the square chanting "El gada3 gada3 , wel gabaan gabaan, we7na ya gada3 7anbaat fel midaaan". We collected money, we bought fool and kusharey and distributed them, people distirbuted tissues, there was juice, there was water. And soon, there were blankets.

As danger became more and more imminent, the mobilization started. Human chains had to be formed around the midan. For Yahia and i the decision to spend the night came easy, casually. I don't think we even discussed it - the night was a happy continuum, especially once our eyes and lungs had adjustd to tear-gas and we all knew the effect of shouting 'ethbat' when a ripple of panic came through teh crowds, or the shooting got a little crazy. But there was constantly a tormenting question of how far one would go. This is always difficult if you're two and want to stick together - but it's also very difficult on the personal level. And this tormented me throughout the revolution.

Would i join the frontlines? Did it feel fair to have others fight on my behalf, what use am i sitting in the middle , protected? As they 'mobilized us' towards the edges, i felt very uncomfortable, i did not bode well in confrontations, i did not want to be put in a position where i had to be aggressive, and usually when faced with aggression i'm hit with an almost child-like sensitivity - why does he want to hurt me so much? I've done NOTHING to this man. my fight is not with him...

My first confrontation with state security batons was in the fall of 1998, my next most memorable event was in 2005, and in 2011, except for karr and farr, i avoided being in direct confrontations all i could. I keep being told by random people that my skin will thicken after being beaten a few times, but i find that doesn't happen. I just don't like it - i never ever remember the beating, frankly i don't remember ever being touched, though i remember , particularly in 1998 seeing the baton rise and fall. What i do remember with most clarity is the look in the eyes of the green-eyed CSF soldier whose baton connected us in 1998, and the men that kept trying to grab at us through the human shield that formed suddenly around us girls in May 25, 2005. There was such an angry look in all their eyes, always something like "what i'm gong to do to you now, you'll never forget..."

I would still avoid that to save my life. It still haunts and embarasses me as cowardice. But the trauma of escaping stray bullets, is much easier to deal with than the trauma of seeing someone intentionally fire at me. I struggle to deal with that.

Thankfully my dilemna did not last long on 25th, as the heavy shooting started, and we were chased throughout downtown Cairo with heavy teargas and CSF soldiers appearing at every corner. Our day ended in Midan el falaki, after a significant tour of the streets surrounding it, though a number of our friends continued the chase throughout Cairo.

I'll never forget when the gas cleared a little and people re-grouped and we started chanting "Al shaab yurid esqaat al nidham", it was the strongest most powerful chant ever. Our voices were in powerful unison and blared through the still quiet of the night downtown; they ricocheted off the buildings in the narrower streets, and the lights came on one at a time in the buildings surrounding us, in no particular order... people stepped out into balconies with their hair in handkerchiefs, in their striped pijammas, rubbing at their sleep drenched eyes...

It was like a metaphor to the city awakening to the sound of a revolution :)

Something was beginning, and it was rippling throughout the country as one mind, heart and soul lit up after the other. The night was the last of good sleep before the struggle began for us all, and it extended far far beyond tahrir.

ترجمة نريمان لمقالي عن مؤتمر أهاي الشهداء في إمبابة

2011-06-29T15:42:00.002+01:00

في ما يلي ترجمة ملخّصة لمقال كتبته عليا مسلّم بالانجليزية بعد حضور مؤتمر شعبي في امبابة. المؤتمر كان من تنظيم اللجنة الشعبية في امبابة لمناقشة محاكمة الضباط المتهمين بقتل المتظاهرين يوم ٢٩ يناير.

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الاجتماع كان بيغلب عليه احساس الغضب. مشيت من هناك غضبانة أكتر مما رحت.

مبدئيا كنا عملنا قائمة بأسماء الصحفيين والاعلاميين وانا وإيهاب من اللجنة اتصلنا بيهم وعزمناهم يحضروا المؤتمر ومعظمهم أبدوا اهتمام. يوم المؤتمر سألت إيهاب لو حد من الصحفيين وصل وجاوبني: ولا واحد. يمكن لو كنا عملنا الاجتماع في نقابة الصحفيين كانت كل الناس جت." المشكلة اننا لازم نختار ما بين "كل الناس" و امبابة، وماينفعش نفضل متجاهلين امبابة.

وأهم حاجة في المؤتمر ده انه كان عن امبابة وعشان امبابة، والناس اللي كانت جاية من بره امبابة كانت مدعوة عشان التضامن والدعم. دعينا نشطاء وصحفيين وكمان لجان شعبية تانية من المطرية وكرداسة ودار السلام وغيرها من الأماكن اللي فيها وضع مماثل: يعني فيها متظاهرين اتقتلوا وماحدش بيتحاسب.

ليه، لحد دلوقتي، وبعد أكتر من ٤ شهور لسه التحقيقات ما كشفتش مين اللي أصدر الأوامر باطلاق النار؟ ليه لسه ما نعرفش إيه اللي حصل بالضبط وليه مافيش محاكمات حقيقية وعادلة بتظهر الحقيقة وتحاسب المسئولين؟

الأهالي اللي حضروا الجلسة الأولى للمحاكمة في أوائل مايو قالوا ان الضباط ما كانوش واقفين في قفص الاتهام. والقاضي أجل الجلسة ومشي لما عرف ان "بتوع امبابة هنا" ولما الأهالي اعترضوا قفلوا عليهم قاعة المحكمة؛ الأخبار اللي طلعت تاني يوم قالت ان الأهالي هاجموا مبنى المحكمة وبالتالي تم تأجيل المحاكمات أسبوع، وابتدت الاشاعات تنتشر في امبابة من مخبرين الداخلية ان القتلى كانوا بلطجية بيهاجموا الاقسام.

رد اللجنة الشعبية كان انهم أصدروا منشورات (عندي منها نسخة) بصور القتلى مع السن والمهنة (معظمهم طلبة في المدرسة أو الجامعة) وكمان كانوا فين بالضبط لما اتضربوا بالنار. اسلام، ١٥ سنة، كان خارج من الجامع لما الرصاصة دخلت في ضهره وخرجت من بطنه. ناصر، ١٨ سنة، كان بيجري على باب عمارته لما الطلقة جت في راسه. محمد صلاح، ٢٦ سنة، كان سايق التوك توك بتاعه لما اتضرب بالنار في صدره.

بعض أسر الشهداء اللى جم يتكلموا في المؤتمر حكوا ان اتعرض عليهم فلوس (وصلت ل١٥٠ ألف جنيه) عشان يتنازلوا عن القضايا، والبعض الآخر اتعرض عليهم شقق وغيرها. ولما رفضوا وأصروا على انهم المرة دي عايزين عدالة ونظام يضمن حقوقهم وحقوق ولادهم على المدى الطويل، اتقال لهم "خللوا بالكو، اللي هيحاسبونا دول حبايبنا، ده لو حد حاسبنا أصلاً."

بعد تبادل القصص اتكلمنا في الخطوات الجاية ممكن تكون إيه. المحامين الموجودين حذروا ان المحاكم لوحدها مش هتجيب للناس حقوقها، وان لازم يكون فيه حشد وتعبئة جماهيرية واعتصامات عند اقسام الشرطة.

الأهالي قالوا ان ثورتهم كانت ضد استبداد الشرطة، يبقى على أي أساس الشرطة لسه في نفس مكانها بنفس السُلطة ونفس الجبروت؟ وليه الناس لسه بتتعرض للظلم والمعاملة السيئة؟ هل لأن الثورة ما كانتش عنيفة بما فيه الكفاية؟ لو كده يبقى المرة الجاية هيكون فيه دم. مستعدين يدوا العدالة والمحاكم فرصتها بس بعد كده هيجيبوا حقوقهم بايديهم. لأنهم ما قاموش وثاروا وخاطروا بحياتهم وضحوا بحياة ولادهم عشان كل حاجة تفضل زي ما كانت.

واحد اتكلم وقال "الثورة مش بس في التحرير". من ال ١١٠٠ اللي اتقتلوا (الرقم وفقاً لعايدة سيف الدولة) كام واحد كانوا في التحرير وكام واحد ماتوا في المناطق الشعبية؟

أنا غضبانة ليه؟ لأن الثورة مستمرة من خلال اللجان الشعبية اللي أعضاءها بيناضلوا عشان يمارسوا سياسة حقيقية في مناطقهم، بيطالبوا بعدالة اجتماعية وبيشتغلوا على الوعي السياسي والاجتماعي وبيحاولوا يضمنوا ان صوت أهاليهم يوصل وما بيقبالوش مساعدات أو منح مادية عشان يحافظوا على مصداقيتهم قدام الأهالي. أنا غضبانة لأن كل الحاجات الجميلة دي بتحصل واحنا متجاهلينها تماما. كام واحد من النشطاء السياسيين بيحاولوا يدعموا الشغل الل بيحصل في امبابة وشبرا وحدايق القبة، أو حتى مدركين انه حاصل أصلاً؟

والأسوأ ان كتير من النشطاء بيتكلموا على ان أغلبية الشعب جهلة ومغيبين سياسيا ومنقسمين طائفيا؟ احنا بنتكلم نظريا عن النزاهة وعن حرية التعبير وحاجات مثالية كتير، بس الناس بتمارس كل ده على أرض الواقع، ولما باقول الناس قصدي اللجان الشعبية في مناطق كتير في مصر. مش بس في المناطق الشعبية، كمان في المعادي مثلاً. يعني مش موضوع طبقات اجتماعية بالضرورة.

بس مشكلة المناطق الشعبية هي ان صوتها مش مسموع. يعني مثلاً مافيش منهم نشطاء بيظهروا على شاشات التلفزيون، والنشطاء اللي بيطلعوا في التليفزيون أولوياتهم مختلفة، ده غير ان لا شكلهم زيهم ولا بيتكلموا زيهم. واحنا عشان نعدّي المأزق ده لازم نبطل نفترض اننا بنتكلم باسم كل الشعب أو اننا 'بنمثّل' كل الناس، ولازم نفهم ونتقبل ان مصر كبيرة وان مجتمعاتها المختلفة فيها مجموعات بتتكون ممكن تتكلم باسمها وتعبر عنها. احنا كنشطاء لازم نعترف بالمجموعات دي، بغض النظر عن توجهاتها السياسية، ولازم نحضر معاهم اجتماعات، ونخللي مطالبهم ومشاريعهم على رأس أولوياتنا.

ناس كتير وانا منهم قلقانين من الانتخابات البرلمانية الجاية. لكن في مناطق كتير اللجان بطلت تعمل دورات توعية للأهالي لأنهم حاسين ان الموضوع مش جايب همه.. الثورة ما بتحقق لهمش أي عدالة؛ وضعهم ماتغيرش ولا حد بيكلمهم على خطط اقتصادية أو حتى بيدّيهم وعود بالتغيير. بصراحة الأمور بتزداد سوءا وبالنسبة لناس كتير الكلام عن الانتخابات البرلمانية والنظم الليبرالية والاشتراكية والاسلامية بقى كلام غامض ونظري.

بس خلليني أوضّح ان موضوع التمثيل في الاعلام ده سمعت الناس بتشتكي منه بعد الثورة في مارس وابريل. وبيتهيألي ان من وقتها ناس كتير قررت ان طظ في الإعلام اللي هو كده كده مش بيمثلنا. وابتدوا يشتغلوا مع نفسهم وبسرعة. بالنسبة لهم الموضوع مش موضوع كلام في السياسة. انما موضوع حقوق وعدالة. وبيحاولو يفهموا بجد الاقتصاد شغال ازاي وميزانية إيه بتعمل إيه في الدولة والخدمات اللي عايزنها مسئولية مين وبتتكلف كام.

وفيه مناطق كتير رافضة ان يمثلها اسلاميين. لأنهم فاهمين ان الاخوان والجماعات الاسلامية الأخرى لعبت دور مهم في غياب الحكومة وفي غياب خدمات الدولة. بس دلوقت هم عايزين ان خدمات الدولة تشملهم وتشملهم مناطقهم. عايزين يكون ليهم مكان في البلد مش على هامشها. في المقابل لسه فيه محاولات من النظام الحالي (أو فلول النظام السابق) عايزة تقنعهم ان مالهمش صوت، وان أملهم الوحيد في العدالة انهم يقبلوا منح من وزارة الداخلية وياخدوا كام ألف وشوية شقق ويسكتوا. وترجع الأمور لما كانت عليه.

فيه حالة من للغضب والذعر من ان الأمور تنتكس وترجع زي ما كانت. وده غير مقبول بعد الأشواط الطويلة اللي قطعناها. عن نفسي أنا لما باروح المناطق الشعبية واتكلم مع الناس هناك، وبعدين أسمع النشطاء والسياسيين بيتكلموا عن البلطجية والانفلات الأمني والفتنة الطائفية بابقى هتجنن!

ازاي ممكن نبقى بالجهل ده. ازاي نبقى جاهلين كده بشعبنا، وبحاجة الناس للكرامة. ازاي نجهل يعني إيه الواحد يخاطر بكل حاجة عشان الكرامة والعدل و فرصة في الحياة، فرصة في التعليم، بيت فيه مياه وكهرباء ومجتمع في نظام وقانون مهمته انه يخدمك.

في اجتماع اللجان الشعبية كان فيه نقاط أمل كتيرة، زي مثلا الشغل اللي بتقوم بيه اللجنة الشعبية في سانت كاترين في سيناء وازاي ممكن ندعمهم. كما ان بعض اللجان مافيهاش تمثيل كافي للمسيحيين فاتصلوا بالكنائس ، أو راحوا ببساطة يخبطوا على الأبواب لتشجيع المزيد من الناس الى الانضمام عشان يبقى فيه تمثيل للجميع في اللجان. وكان فيه كلام عن ائتلاف لأسر الشهداء بيتشكل حاليا ويتضمن امبابة والمطرية ودار السلام وكرداسة وعدد من أماكن أخرى.

النشطاء والحقوقيين في مصر قعدوا سنين يسألوا: فين الناس؟ الشعب فين؟ كان النشطاء وقتها بيقفوا في احتجاجات عددهم فيها أقل من عدد الأمن المركزي. وبعدين الناس قامت وخلقت ثورة حقيقية. أخيرا بقينا جزء من حاجة قوية غيرت حياتنا كلنا، مش بس على مستوى البلد والتاريخ انما حتى على المستوى الشخصي لكل حد فينا. حسّينا اننا عشنا معجزة. ومع المعجزة بييجي احساس رهيب بالمسئولية. عشان كده لازم نتفق على الأولويات.

نتكلم ازاي عن مجلس الشعب أو الدستور والناس لسه مش حاسين بالأمان في حياتهم اليومية، كرامتهم لسه مهددة، حريتهم لسه مسلوبة، وفوق كل جه بيواجهوا خطر المحاكمات العسكرية.

الثورة اتولدت من الشارع ولسه مستمرة في الشارع. مستمرة في المطالبة بالعدالة الاجتماعية، باننا نكون كلنا واحد قدام المحكمة والعدالة، مستمرة في اللجان الشعبية اللي بيمارس من خلالها السياسة والتمثيل السياسة. ولو مابتديناش نشتغل على ازاي مطلب زي العدالة الاجتماعية يتحقق على أرض الواقع، حتتحول العدالة الاجتماعية لمجرد شعار مش هيفيد حد.

محتاجين نركز مع اللي بيحصل في الشارع ونسيبنا شوية من النظريات السياسية. الشارع فيه وعي وفيه حكمة، والأهم من كده انه فيه الناس. فيه تاريخ البلد وأهلها وفيه الواقع اللي الناس عايشاه. واحنا لازم نختار يا اما نفهم الواقع ده ونتعلم منه ونبني فيه، أو نستمر في تجاهله ونعيش في نظرياتنا وأيديولوجياتنا.

النشطاء في الاسكندرية والسويس بيقولوا ان شغلهم متقدم عن القاهرة لأنهم ما عندهمش "داء الإعلام" وان احنا في القاهرة مشغولين بمين قال إيه ومين بيمثل مين ومين بيتكلم كويس ومين رأيه من رأيي ومين هاختلف معاه، وناسيين المشاكل والاحتياجات الحقيقية للناس اللي عايشة حوالينا. الناس اللي كانت خطوط الدفاع الأولى في أول أيام الثورة ودلوقتي بيتفرجوا على ثورة غريبة عنهم في التليفزيون.

بس الثورة الحقيقية في الشارع. في كل شارع مش بس في التحرير. تعالوا نبطل نسمع الإعلام. نبطل نصنع الإعلام. احنا كشعب "اتقابلنا" في الثورة ومحتاجين دلوقتي نفضل على اتصال. أنا مقتنعة ان أي حل أو هيكلة سياسية هتيجي من فوق محكوم عليها بالفشل، بس لو ابتدينا مع الناس من تحت فيه حاجات مذهلة بتحصل. فيه تنظيمات حكم محلّي ومجموعات الشعبية بتطوّر نفسها وبتجرب أفكار جديدة على أرض الواقع. مجموعات وتنظيمات اتولدت مع الثورة وبتعبّر عنها. لو راقبناها عن قرب وشاركنا فيها أو نقلنا نفس الأفكار كل واحد في منطقته، هنبتدي نفهم حقيقة الحراك السياسي في مصر. ويمكن نتعلم حاجة. هنتعلم حاجة مش هنلاقيها في كتب التاريخ أو النظريات السياسية، لأننا قبل ما نتعلم عن السياسة، هنتعلم حاجات عن نفسنا وعن بعض.

اللي بيحصل في مصر دلوقت فرصة مش هتتكرر تاني في حياة أي حد فينا. بس احنا على شفا موقف خطر لأن يوم بعد يوم غضب الناس بيزيد واستعدادهم للتغاضي عن الظلم بيقلّ. احنا بنعيش لحظة رائعة مليانة إمكانات واحتمالات ما كناش نحلم بيها لأن فيه ناس كتير فعلا مستعدة للحراك والشغل والتغيير. ناس عايزة ديمقراطية حقيقية، عايزين مساءلة وشفافية ومناقشات سياسية وحلول اقتصادية، بس قبل كل ده محتاجين يحسوا انهم أحرار. ان خسائرهم وتضحياتهم متقدرة ومعترف بيها.

انسوا التحرير. انسوا التليفزيون. الثورة في كل شوارع مص

Imaba is Very angry, As am I.

2011-06-09T15:28:00.002+01:00

Last week we went to a mu2tamar sha3bey organized by Imbaba's popular committee (lagna sha3beyya) concerning the trials of police officers who killed protesters in Imbaba on the 29th of January.

There was so much anger in that meeting, that i left more angry than i had gone and have been able to do very little about it.

For starters, i had helped gather a contact list of journalists and producers who me and Ehaab from the lagna contacted about the event, and most people seemed interested bas no one showed up. When i got there i asked Ehaab if any of the journalists we called came and he said "Not one. If we had done this in the journalists's syndicate everyone would have come. Bas seems we have to choose , it's either Imbaba or 'everyone' and we can't keep ignoring Imbaba'.

What was wonderful about the conference was just taht; this was a conference about Imbaba for Imbaba, by Imbaba, and people were invited to come in solidarity and support. Activists and journalists were invited as well as legan sha3beyya from matareyya, kerdasa, dar el salam and other places where the situation is similar. WHere activists have been killed and no one's being held accountable for it.

They invited Aida Seif EL Dawla of El Nadim, and other human rights activists to speak and there was a short debate about whether it is the officers that should be held accountable - since they shot, bas what about the fact that they were taking orders? And how about people higher up in ranks like Mubarak and Adly, who gave the orders, bas may have not known about things. Or how about a whole system that is not at all accountable to people and allowed for this to happen?

This made me furious. I mean is it REALLY that difficult to have a fucking trial where justice is questioned. WHY, 6 months later do we STILL not know who gave the fucking orders to shoot, and what the fuck exactly happened?!

Over and above the fact that the families went to the first court hearing in the beginning of May and found that the officers were not fe affass el eteheaam and the judge adjourned the hearing and left the court-house when he found out 'Imbaba was there' and the families were locked into the court house when they went ballistic; news was out the next day that the families attacked the courthouse adn therefore the session was postponed for a week, AND rumors were spread in Imbaba by dakhleyya and mukhbereen that those killed were actually baltageyya and were killed in teh process of attacking el 2e2saam.

So the lagna sha3beyya produced fliers (of which i have a copy) showing the pictures, age, occupation (in most cases what grade they were in school or university) and where exactly they were shot to prove that these victims were nowhere near the police station. That 15 year old Islam was stepping out of a mosque when he was shot in his back and the bullet exited through his stomach, and that 18 year old Nasser was running back into his building when he was shot in the head, and that 26 year old Mohammed Salah was driving his toktok when he was shot in his chest.

During the conference the families of the martyrs came up to speak. Some spoke of being offered money (150,000 LE) to yetnazlu 3an their cases, others were offered apartments and others a car instead of the toktok. The latter said he told the official that came to make the offer that they weren't interested, that this time they wanted justice and a sustainable system of it. And the officer said 'khalley baalek, el 7aye7besuna dul 7abayebna..law 7abasuna aslan'

There was talk by activists calling on the families of imbaba to support each other so they don't have to relent and accept musal7aat by police oR WORSE in some cases people were being threatened if they didn't let go of el adeyya. Just like the popular committee was threatened when they decided to hold this conference and activists that wanted to hold a nadwa to discuss the sectarian violence were threatened by a police officer.. you can't have such a nadwa without tasri7 from mudereyet amn el giza. In short they don't want sectarian issues to be solved.

So no one has any place to talk about sectarian violence and salafeyeen without first visiting the scene of the crime and finding out WHAT exactly happened.

After the many stories people started to talk about what's to be ne next. Lawyers warned that justice will never be served through courts alone, that people needed to rally and mobilize and camp before the police stations. that they needed to go to mudereyeeat amn el giza.

Bas Ahaaley Imbaba spoke differently. They said that their revolution was against the police force, why is the police still where it is in the hierarchy of power, and why are they still subject to its abuse?! Is it because they weren't violent enough? Than in the next revolution there will be blood.

Are laws and 'justice' only applicable to people like us. Is justice only taken through when it comes to arresting baltageyya from Imbaba??

THey will give justice and the courts one more chance before they take matters into their own hands. THey didn't rise up and sacrifice their own lives and the lives of their children for things to stay exactly the same.

One man spoke up and said "El thawra mesh fel tahrir". How many of the (according to Aida Seif El Dawla) 1,100 people that died were from tahrir? And how many were from el manate2 el sha3beyya that surrounded it...

My personal anger stems from the fact that the revolution has continued so beautifully through el legan el sah3beyya that have struggled and continue to struggle to practice politics in their areas, to demand social justice, to work on political and social awareness, and try to ensure that their people are represented, that refuse to take any funds to make sure they are credibel and accountable to their people; and the extent to which they are ignored. How many activists are supporting hte work being done in Imbaba and Shubra and 7adaye2 el qubba and boulaq?

WORST yet, how many activists talk about how ignorant people are, and how politically unaware and how sectarian?! Activists talk about political integrity and freedom of speech and ideals of this and that, bas people are practicing this on the ground and by 'people' i mean legaan sha3beyya in populous areas as well as teh lagna sha3beyya in Maadi for instance. It's not a matter of social class necessarily.

Bas the problem with el manate2 el sha3beyya is that they are highly under-represented. Activists that appear on tv, don't look like them, don't act like them, don't speak like them, and when they talk about priorities they don't seem to include them at all. WE HAVE to get past htis impasse where we believe we 'represent' people and accept that EGYPT Is huge and that somehow these communities have grown to develop representative groups that can speak in all their names. These groups, regardless of their political orientations have to be in all our meetings and we NEED to prioritize being in their events and attempts.

Lots of people are worried about upcoming parliamentary elections and so am i. But for some areas, the legaan are no longer preparing awareness sessions because people are loosing interest.. they are not receiving any justice from the revolution; their situation hasn't changed, they are not receiving any economic plans or promises, and frankly things are looking bleak. talk of parliamentary elections and liberal and socialist and islamist systems and economies is becoming vague and theoretical.

THe revolution is unraveling into something that belongs to people on twitter and facebook and nice pristine samples that appear on tv and use terminologies in different languages, and those that died for this revolution believing it would make a difference in their lives are ignored.

To be honest, this issue of media representation is one that's been complained about a lot since the revolution; say in March and April. I think since, people have decided you know what fuck the media, it doesn't represent us anyway, bas they are FAST at work. For them it isn't about talk or politics, it's about working hard and quickly to establish a precedence of justice and system of political representation, and find a way to understand how things operate economically and what budgets exist where in the state to make sure they are served and served well.

For that very reason some areas are refuting Islamist representation. They know the MB and other islamists played the role of an absent government and right now they want to be integrated. But what the state is trying to establish at the moment, is that hey are still unheard, that their best bet at justice is to accept what the ministry of interior is trying to dish out of money and property and that things will go back to what htey have been.

There is a growing anger and trembling panic in these areas. That things will relapse into what they were, which is now unacceptable given how far they come. And frankly being there and then hearing activists talk about baltageyya and infelatt amney and sectarian strife drives me crazy.

I am astounded at how ignorant ignorant ignorant we can be. How ignorant of our people, how ignorant of this need for dignity, how ignorant of what it means to risk everything for a life of dignity and justice and at the possibility of just standing a chance at LIVING, at the possibility of an education, at the possibility of water and electricity and a legal system taht serves you.

Yesterday in a meeting networking popular committees, there were a number of inspiring issues raised like the work being done by a popular committee in St Katherine in Sinai and how it can be supported, and how some legan feel there is an under-representation fo christians, and have approached churches, or simply gone around knocking on doors to encourage more people to join so they feel they are equally representative. ANd then there was teh talk of a coalition of the families of the martyrs that was developing. Including Imbaba, Matareyya, Dar EL Salam, Kerdasa and a number of other places.

None of these areas have seen or received any promise of trials or accountability and feel they are slowly sinking on the list of national opportunities and the discussion went something like this. What can we do that is really really drastic that will stop the flow in the country so the media can come, or the army can come, and listen to what we're going through.

And they were really trying to think of something that would be drastic enough for immediate attention and yet not cause too much harm to everyday people. When someone suggest they go to tahrir, most of us smirked and sniggered. And i realized then and there that tahrir has become a space for a different struggle. A struggle that's about political integrity or a political rhetoric that is devoid somehow of REAL justice and REAL politics, that of our every day lives.

For YEARS activists asked 'feyn el naas' we 'feyn el shaab' when we were in protests that were highly outnumbered by state security. We ba3deyn el naas gat we tel3t we aamet, they graced the revolution, and they made something real and powerful and wonderful and unforgettable of it. And by real and powerful i mean on the level of our personal lives, as well as that of the history of movements.

Bas this was a POPULAR revolution; there is something miraculous to that, bas there is also a HUGE sense of responsibility towards it to. Our priorities have to develop with consensus.

It's impossible to talk about parliament or constitution when people do not have security in tehri day to day lives, when their dignity is being threatened again and when they are being held with a knife at their throats. Not to mention when they are at a risk for military trials.

This revolution was born out of street politic, and there it continues. It is in our demands for social justice; that we are all one in the eyes of court and justice and legality; it is in teh birht of popular committees that are practicing politics and representation, not because they are ambitious, bas because that is how political orders seem to develop organically and that is what there is a need for; proper representation in all of these areas.

We really need to pay attention to what is REALLY happening on the streets and what there is a need and demand for. Let go of political theories and demands and idea and structures for how things should flow ideally. There is a wisdom and consciousness in the streets, adn more yet, in the streets there is US. There is a history of what this country is, there is a population, there is a reality, we somehow choose to continue to ignore as we pursue the political ideals taht our thoughts and ideologies dictate to us.

This is a very very angry rant, and my hands are really shaking as i try to type this, and i wish i could have somehow found the peace sometime since Imabab's meeting last thursday to address teh constructive points we need to consider, and how we need to move.

We nee to support the efforts of el legaan el sha3beyya; we need to mobilize citizen media not only for protests bas to document what's happening in these areas; we need to listen to eh families of the martyrs and those arrested by the army because these are the people that were suffering before the revolution and who continue o suffer most after it. If they don't receive justice, tahn social justice will continue to be a theoretical term that will serve none of us.

We are at this incredibally powerful moment with incredible potential where people WANT to act, they want everything that is ideal and democratic, they want accountability and transparency they want to discuss politics they NEED TO HEAR ABOUT ECONOMICs.. bas do to that they need to sense that they are free.

And just as we as activists are proud to be able to say that this is a populous revolution and there was an almost historical record of 'people' being part of it, we need to be more than smug about it. 'People' came out for something, they need to acknowledge that they are part of this struggle; they need to acknowledge that their losses are appreciated and considered.

Activists in Alexandria and Suez, say they are always much more advanced than cairo because we have 'da2 el 2e3lam' we are so obsessed with who comes out on tv and who says what to represent whom and being articulate that we completely miss out on what is going on on the ground and in the lives of people that surround us. At the beginning of the revolution this was said with bitterness, because infact, they were barely represented at ALL on the media, even though they were the first and second lines of defense, but as they watch cairo degenerate into a hollywood revolution with glamorous stars and TV talk, they deem it irrelevant at times, adn at others, at times when they realize that Cairo is highly symbolic they wonder if they have lost the revolution to all the Waels and Shadis of this country.

This revolution is in the streets. It's in every street. Let's stop listening to the media, and make the media. We met a 'people' in tahrir we NEED to keep in touch. I personally find that we are doomed whichever way we look at structural politics from above; bas from below, there is something wonderful happening. There are many local and popular governance systems that are developing and experimenting with themselves and their constituencies. They are a metaphor for this revolution and they have grown out of it, if we pay close attention to them, and work on forming or participating in the forms of governance that are developing in our own neighbourhoods we will really understand the dynamics of politic in this country, and there's a chance we will learn something.

We will learn something that we will never learn from the history of politics or revolutions, or Gene zift, or all the books on political history and theory, and ideology. Because before we learn something about politics, we will learn something about ourselves.

There is SUCH an opportunity in all that is happening. Bas we verge on a very very sensitive point, where anger is mounting, people's tolerance for injustice is thinning by the day. Forget tahrir, forget tv, hit the streets.

On Revolting and thereafter...

2011-05-29T21:58:00.000+01:00

This is that quote i've been (mis)quoting over the last few months! Finally made the effort to pull it out. It's in answer to this question of 'bas not everyone came out during the revolution'. Ten million is one in every 8 people. THat's more than ten percent, and in the history of world revolutions is actually a record.

It's from my all time favorite books on revolutions; "The Unthinkable revolution in Iran" - he talks about the revolution and analyzes it all the while indicating that the whole idea of a revolution is that it is about change and change is often unthinkbale, bas the efforts social sciences make to explain or deem it predictable in retrospect, takes away much of what the revolution was about, or was acheiving.

I highly recommend it as a read for understanding revolutions; bas more so, if you're worried ours may be reminiscent of Iran's in 1979. You will get this perhaps from many books you read about Iran, bas the way he describes its 'unthinkablity' and how it encroached and explded is similar, bas the prime difference (and how this revolution sort of redefines 'popular' revolutions) is the role Khomeini, and his speeches and tapes played. We did not have that sort of centre, this sort of figure who pulled us through. My gosh, we did not even have the luxury of being able to communicate! Not to mention it was growing and developing and building on shiism as it grew..

We just have those who want to ride it,and our own deamons that we're struggling to shake off.

That said, i do not discount or underestimate any risks; it is rare in the history of revolutions (or those i had read/studied) that those who pulled it through, pulled it off. And that's what we see, more in Sawiris and the many bubbling political parties that are not at all researching or considering the needs of the people; more than 7atta what we see of islamists - who albeit organized, do not have an agenda, and are making fools of themselves. People were loyal to them because they did what a non-existant government failed to offer, bas now people want a government, they want resources and they want to be incorporated in a budget and plan, and not as they were before, forgotten. They don't want the alternative.

Somehow however, i remain (deeply) optimistic :)

I read this book for the first time 6 years ago and find in every sentence, pause, foot and side-note, how far we've come :D We have a really long way to go, bas at least now, we have a say in it :)

" Indeed the Iranian Revolution was one of the most popular upheavals in world history; 10 percent or more of the Iranian population participated in the demonstrations and general strike that toppled Shah Mohammed Reza Pahlavi. By comparison, less than 2 percent of the population participated in the overthrow of Soviet Communism.

....We can only guess teh future. We cannot know how people will act in a situation of confusion until it is upon them. Massive change cannot be known in advance, but only as it is happening. Widespread knowledge is part of the change itself. People sense that something big is occurring , and their responses help shape the event.

This conclusion may sound abstract, but it has real political consequences. If we want to change the world - and who doesn't? -- then we are marching boldly toward a stituation of confusion, the moment when old patterns begin to be disrupted and new ones take their place. For change as significant as a revolution , we cannot know in advance who will cling to the old ways and who will embrace the new. All that remains is to pursue the goal for its own sake, because we consider it the right thing to do. All we can do is try to make the unthinkable, thinkable." Charles Kurzman - The Unthinkable Revolution In Iran; viii-ix"

The genius of his book is he talks about how every revolution must be read in its own right, that we cannot pretend to have been able to predict it, nor can we explain it using others, it resists explanations. Namely because people could not have predicted their own actions (i'll bet we can all think of quite a few we would not have predicted ) and thus naturally, they could not have predicted the actions of those around them.

Revolutions break the rules, and patterns, and most essentially they break our patterns of change. For even 'change' is an idea that we are conditioned to believe happens in a particular way. He traces through interviewing many people who were involved in the revolution that moment of 'unthinkability' when is that moment that you believed something was absolutely impossible and it happened. Not because you wanted it to or believed it might, but because you did something you never believed you could or would do, and things were never the same.

We all say there is much we need to unlearn; and although we make lists of all we need to 'unlearn' i don't think we can imagine that. Because with every idea or concept we do unlearn we are left barren, without our anchors of logic; light-headed without teh weight of our judgement; and disoriented without the light-house of our values and concepts and learned ideas be they social or political.

We will all fumble, sometimes together, and it will be confusing but we will feel part of each others regiments and know we will be fine; and sometimes alone, at night in our beds, as our heart paces to the sound of gunshots, or to the sound of our own pacing hearts at the thought of a life less predictable or secured. But had we not fumbled this far, this explosion of possibilities; those fleeting moments be they rare or fleeting when we imagine that what we dream realy matters, what we've wished for is relevant, that our hopes and dreams are not private, bu they are shared and they are external adn fee e7temaal, akheeran fe e7temaal enuhum yet7a2a2uh.

And that is because ultimately ultimately ultimately; in dodging a bullet, in standing fort, in running for your life, in leaving home with all the risks in mind, in chanting at the top of your lungs, in dreaming, in feeling part of a larger whole, and in hoping, we have this sense of unquestionable ownership. El balad beta3etna. Finally finally its yours. You are not of it and from it because you were born to it, but because you believed it worth the fight. And the fight only started on the 11th of February.

I was interviewing Amina Shafiq, a communist activist and inspiring activist of 1956 in Port-said and much thereafter, and after recounting the details of '56 as a very eventful year (after, i must say a growing anti-nasserist sentiment that had developed after '54 for his outsing Naguib), she trailed off at one point and said; "Enty 3arfa, fe ra2yey.. el 3aash el fatra dee...3ash kwayes".

i think she meant, despite her own critiques of the politics of that period; the fulfillment of having hoped.

My supervisor at some ambiguous moment in the revolution, said something firm, yet somehow reassuring that no matter what happens, doing what you think is right, against all odds is good for your integrity.

At that moment, i felt it was a great quote to use with my children, but could nto grasp its relevance in our chaos and uncertainty. Bas now i do. Somehow in all our hope, and i don't think we've ever hoped as individually or collectively as we did in tahrir, there's alot of goodness in all of us, that for those brief moments externalized, adn took us all in. We became part of something larger and good.

At times when things look possibly dark, i feel like whatever happens, being there in those moments, re-assured some 'good' part in all of us, or even brought it out, or told it it DOES have a place in this world. Akid, it is more likely to resurface for the rest of our lives, than it was before those days of intense group therapy and humanization :)

But all said, adn regardless of what happens at every point; we will stay true to our hopes and dreams, and we will give it everything we've got. And somehow , for better or for worse, we will have lived through this. And thus, we will have lived well.

ليه نازلين يوم ٢٧

2011-05-24T22:00:00.000+01:00

حوار مع سائق تاكسي (سائق من سنة ستين) بعد صمت طول الطريق:ء

أنا: نزلني هنا لوسمحت

الحج مصري: هنا هنا ولا حتعدي الشارع

أنا: حعدي الشارع بس مش مشكلة، نزلني هنا

الحج مصري وهو مصمم يلف: أبداً! وده معقول؟ أسيب شباب الثثوورة يعدي الشارع لوحده بعد كل العملهلنا؟!تقعدي في الشارع بالأيام والليالي وأسيبك تعدي الشارع؟

--سيل من الدعوات المتبادلة--

الحج مصري: قوليلي، أنا سامع إن إحنا نازلين يوم ٢٧، ده صحيح؟

أنا :صحيح!ء

حج مصري: كويس، صح كده! عشان التباطؤ في العدل وحش، والوضع الأمني بقى صعب أوي. هشوفك هنااك، هه؟ أنا نازل طبعاً، ، حكم أنا الحج مصري، والإسم على مسمى! ء

----

أنا هنزل يوم الجمعة عشان الشعب والشعب لازم يبقو إيد واحدة والجيش إيده ثقلت

What's Happening? How can i join? إيه الممكن أعمله اليومين دول، ومين محتاج مساعدة؟

2011-03-23T22:01:00.000Z

These are a few of the initiatives i've been involved with. Please circulate and add your own, so more of us are exposed to existing groups and initiatives, can pitch in, and don't re-invent wheels and carettas :)

رداً على أسئلة "أنا ممكن أساعد إزاي"، دي بعض المبادرات العامة والمفتوحة اللي إشتغلت معاها أو سمعت عنها. يا ريت الإضافة والنشر. اللينكس والويب سايتس والمدونات المرفقة كلها بالعربي

I think priorities now are that we (beyond our own interest groups and limited circles) work together to unify our visions as to what to work on next; how we want the parliamentary elections to happen and how we want the constitution to be written, and naturally, mobilize.

Most events and workshops are today, tomorrow and Friday, so please note event times in Bold and Italics.

Please also add initiatives you know of that are interesting or need assistance, and let's spread the love :)

يعيش أهل بلدي وبينهم مفيش تعارف يخللي التحالف يعيش....يعيش يعيش يعيش"أحمد فؤاد نجم"

والله الموفق والمستعان، عليا

1. Working Groups - Politics, Policy and Awareness

Al Rabeta; Shabab Al Thawra Al taqadumy -- الرابطة... شباب الثورة التقدمي

these are a number of academics and activists that have formed a group that is something between a think tank, and a 'working group', and they meet on Saturdays ta2riban. At the moment they are working on planning what hte next steps are adn developing a database of NGOs that will help raise awareness about parliamentary candidates when the time comes. THey had a meeting earlier this monday and was about developing anti-sectarianism working groups.

addition by Amr on political activities;

وبالإضافة للي مكتوب. شغلنا له جانب سياسي له علاقة بالضغط لتحقيق مطالب الثورة وبناء دولة مدنية ديمقراطية تسمح بالسقف الأعلى من الحريات والحقوق ...السياسية والاجتماعية

In 30 Haroun Street, El Dokki. Development Support Centre.

http://www.facebook.com/pages/%D8%A7%D9%84%D8%B1%D8%A7%D8%A8%D8%B7%D8%A9/114191081992821?sk=wall

THEY ARE CALLING FOR A MEETING TO COORDINATE VISIONS AND STRATEGIES, INVOLVING REPRESENTATIVES OF MOST MOVEMENTS AND INITIATIVES AND POPULAR COMMITTEES ON TUESDAY, THE 5TH OF APRIL AT 5:30

The Development Support Centre-- مركز دعم التنمية is an NGO that works with grassroots and is aiming to focus on develop a training manual and trianing youth from el legan el sha3beyya in different mu7afzat. If you have heard of Hala and Hani Shukrallah and Mona Abaza; they are the main people in this group. They are meeting this Thursday at 5:00 with legan sha3beyya to see what the youth in these areas need and what htey can offer.

Next meeting thursday at 5:00 pm -- 30 Haroun street, Dokki (near midan el mesa7a, behind seoudi)

he DSC also hosts a group called 'thawret el lotus - who are a very dynamic working group adn did amazing work in mobilizing people, and distributing fliers during the referedum.

their next meeting is on Friday the 25th at 5:00, and is going to be around watching a movie about how to change ideas and information into action.

"ten ways to change ideas into action"

http://www.facebook.com/login/setashome.php?ref=genlogin#!/event.php?eid=198367810183238

THIS EVENT HAS PASSED.

Campaign against Military arrests, torture and tribunals-- A group that is currently working on a campaign to stop the army from arresting and torturing peaceful protestors. They want to start with things like a website with testimonies, and a smart campaign that doesn't denounce the army directly, bas helps keep it accountable , so we don't have another ministry of interior on our hands. Also create an emergency response group once someone is arrested, so mumken nel7a2hum before they are accused of being baltageyya or tried through a military tribunal. And helping innocent people like Amr Abdallah that have already been tried and sentenced get out. Especially that the way the army is operating now, makes the streets an impossible place to protest which is really dangerous. We need to keep the streets as a space for pressure if need be. Let me know if you want to be added to the egroup, bas it's a very dense one, so i suggst you attend the mtng first then decide.

http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=100994423318027&index=1

contact: "منى" ,

Hisham Mubarak Law Centre, 1 souq el tawfeqeyya street off the 26th of July street, downtown.

THEY HAVE DEVELOPED INTO COMMITTEES ADN WELCOME VOLUNTEERS. SOME INNOCENT DETAINEES SENTENCES HAVE BEEN RECONSIDERED OVER THE LAST WEEK THANKS TO THEIR CAMPAIGNS.

Al Gabha Al Qawmeyya lel 3adallah wal democrateyya -- A new group that is supposed to link different groups, parties and NGOs that work with communities together to try to mobilize bas also unify our vision. Here's a link that describes what they plan to do, and you can email them through this.

First Event: Thursday at 8:00 pm downtown.

http://www.facebook.com/login/setashome.php?ref=genlogin#!/note.php?note_id=10150214523133135

You can contact them here and ask more questions and even apply : info@djabha.org

THEIR FOUNDING MEETING TOOK PLACE ON TUESDAY THE 29TH OF MARCH IN THE JOURNALISTS' SYNDICATE.

Civil Society to Monitor the Egyptian Parliament: A new group to monitor the Egyptian parliament when it's formed and hold it accountable. You can contact them at: monitor.Egyptian.parliament@groups.facebook.com or find them at the facebook group:

http://www.facebook.com/Egysdp?ref=ts&sk=wall#!/home.php?sk=group_170158549697964

صوتي لبلدي -- Soty Lebalady : An organization that provides awareness sessions as well as materials for raising awareness on parliamentary elections, particularly against vote buying.

http://www.facebook.com/home.php?sk=group_164425766940848

Sa7wa -- صحوة: This seems to be another working group/movement/think tank-ish group whith lots of committees. And invites volunteers for ameeting from 6-9 this Friday fe gahmra , kuleyet Ramesis el banaat.

http://www.facebook.com/Egysdp?ref=ts&sk=wall#!/Al.Sahwa.Movement

Shadow Youth Cabinet: This is mainly a facebook group that brings forth all the different ministries for people to take apart, and encourages the devlopment of a shadow ministry, wehre policies are reconsidered, and structure is studied and researched etc. The idea behind it is that active shadow ministires are created so that ministires are always held accountable for their work and policies. I think this is really really important, bas the group needs to be mobilized and moderated. So far only a few of the ministries are very active.

http://www.facebook.com/home.php?sk=group_139856452744811&ref=ts

It was started up by the Shadow Minister of Housing, who had been active (followed by the government as well as international organizations) for hte last two years;

http://shadowministryofhousing.blogspot.com/

Madd -- مدّ : Specific interest group, looking at policies related to urban planning/urbanism and architecture as well as social issues related to public space and slums etc. http://www.facebook.com/#!/home.php?sk=group_132012390202654

اللجان الشعبية للدفاع عن الثورة المصرية

Youth committees in different areas, working on security, awareness and political activity in those areas.

http://www.facebook.com/pages/%D8%A7%D9%84%D9%84%D8%AC%D8%A7%D9%86-%D8%A7%D9%84%D8%B4%D8%B9%D8%A8%D9%8A%D8%A9-%D9%84%D9%84%D8%AF%D9%81%D8%A7%D8%B9-%D8%B9%D9%86-%D8%A7%D9%84%D8%AB%D9%88%D8%B1%D8%A9-%D8%A7%D9%84%D9%85%D8%B5%D8%B1%D9%8A%D8%A9/192042760814296?ref=ts&sk=wall

يد واحدة -- شباب من أجل التنمية

Eed Wa7da -- Youth for Development

Working group of many committees, meet on Friday's 3-6 in Saqiet el Sawi.

For more info , contact: eedwa7da@gmail.com

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Eed-Wa7da/202822159734599#!/pages/Eed-Wa7da/202822159734599?sk=info

Waqfeyat al Maadi al Ahleya -- مؤسسة وقفية المعادي الأهلية

This community foundation is working with families of the martyrs on issues related to their legal rights as well as social and financial support. They need volunteers.

تعمل مؤسسة وقفية المعادي الأهلية مع أهلي شهداء ثورة ٢٥ يناير لتحقيق مطالبهم و مطالب الثورة المجيده في المحاكمة السريعة لقتلة شبابنا الأبرار و تميز أهالي الشهداء و إعطائهم حقوقهم المشروعة. و تتعاون الوقفية مع نيابة جنوب و التي تسهل أوراق الشهداء بتوصية من النائب العام بعد التظاهر السلمي أمام مكتبه و الاتفاق مع نائب رئيس نيابة جنوب على الإسراع في المحاكمات؛ كما تعمل وقفية المعادي مع أهالي الشهداء على فتح باب للرزق من خلال مشروعات صغيره لأسر الشهداء اللذين فقدوا عائلهم الوحيد و عمل وقفييات في شكل شهادات استثمار لأولادهم أو أسرهم و تتعاون مع المغربي للعيون لتحويل كل حالات الإصابة بالعيون لأبناء الثورة و إجراء كل العمليات مجانا.

للتطوع و المساعدة نرجو الاتصال بوقفية المعادي من خلال كتابة إيميل إلى مروة الدالي على

marwad@hotmail.com أو الاتصال بمحمود إبراهيم على ٠١٧٥٨٣٣٤٣٥ و ٢٥٢٧٢٤٤٥

http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=501362690#!/group.php?gid=13309356718

2. Events

Gosour -- Is an interesting looking NGO, and they are working on developing the "Cairo Debates" regular debates that discuss important issues. There is one today on "What Next" and includes someone from el ikhwan, el wasat, el 2e2telaf (mainly zyad el eleimy) and Amr El Shobaky whose a political analyst; see here.

Next Event Today (Wednesday) , On Pharoahs boat infront of four seasons at 6:30 - 9:30

http://www.facebook.com/Egysdp?ref=ts&sk=wall#!/event.php?eid=206156892744566

E7tegag/Thawret el lotus

group described above: Movie ; Ten ways to change ideas into action ;

Friday at 5:00 at the Development support centre (above)

http://www.facebook.com/login/setashome.php?ref=genlogin#!/event.php?eid=198367810183238

Lagna sha3beyya in Boula2 : Group of youth from Boulaq Are being trained by Jan 25 actvists on aspects of the revolution and discussing 'what next'.

Friday at 2:00 pm, Share3 el sa7afah, infrong of super jet stop, midan el sheikh farag.

Lagna sha3beyya in 7adaye2 el qubba: Group of youth from 7adaye2 el qubba, Are being trained by proffessors on 'what is liberalism , what is secularism' etc.

Friday at 6:00 pm (i'm going let me know if you're interested)

THEY ARE HOLDING A CULTURAL DAY IN THE MAIN GARDEN/SQUARE IN 7ADAYE2 EL QUBBA ON FRIDAY THE 1ST OF APRIL. IT'S AN OPEN EVENT.

3. Websites to connect people and events،can help keep you up to date

i was in a meeting for all websites, bas only took contacts and info of a few, once someone sends the minutes and full contact list i'll share.

مصر دولة مدتية --خريطة المبادرات المختلفة واجان الشعبية الفعالة حسب المنطقة

Map of initiatives by area

http://tiba.crowdmap.com/reports/

El-Midan -- Supposed to link activists together ; Elmidan.com

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YkZVr_zGyZU

Mobadarat Thawreyya - a website group i'm part of despserately trying to put together a portal that keeps up to date initiatives like the ones above, bas acrss mu7afzat so we all have an idea what's happening where at any given time. If you would like to volunteer to putting an arabic portal together let me know.

Misrena.com -- A website that is being developed to keep people up to date with the events that are going on. They are sitll working on it i think. They are under Volunteersforegypt.com and they can be contacted at Info@misrena.com

Kherna.com -- Am not sure how it is spelt exactly bas they are trying to network between people who want to volunteer for charity and development, and initiatives and NGOs and organizations taht are trying to help people.

Or you can contact korayem83@gmail.com ; i think her name is Myriam.

Masryaom.com: Zyad Ali who is trying to link Egyptians abroad with certain skills to initiatives here in Cairo and help them be useful; this is his email ; zyad@alzwad.com

He may also be working on a TV Channel

4. Media .(There is a DIRE need for forms of media until we can purge mainstream media ; el ahram and channel one and two of lies)

Radio Tahrir; http://www.facebook.com/Egysdp#!/group.php?gid=4689155815

Ibrahim Eissa is preparing to launch a tv channel bas i don't know much about that yet.

I could get you contacts if you think you can contribute with ideas or content, or funding.

Two main ones on the scene that i know of;

5. Political Parties

The Egyptian Social Democratic Pary

Made of prominent figures such as Mohammed Abolghar (leftist activist and academic at cairo u), Samer Soliman (leftist activist, academic at AUC), Ehaab El Kharaat (Psychologist, activist and one of the few people who spoke openly pro the revolution in churches during the events), Dawood abdelsayed, Director, and Sally Thoma and Ziad El Eleimy of 2e2telaaf.

The party's founding meeting was last thursday and they are now developing working groups. They are middle left with a mix of Leftist and liberal values.

http://www.facebook.com/Egysdp?ref=ts&sk=wall

MEETING CALLED FOR THIS SATURDAY AT 11 AM, THE 2ND OF APRIL AT AL NAHDA NGO, RAMESIS. CHECK THE LINK FOR DETAILS.

There is a liberal Party with leftist values that is being found by Amr Hamzawy and helped by Shahir Ishaq. You can keep in touch with Noha Bashir for any info. nohabashir@gmail.com

THEY HAVE JOINED FORCES WITH THE ABOVE PARTY! http://dostor.org/politics/egypt/11/march/29/39111

There is a Green/Envirnomental party ; ta7t al ta2sis. Aims to work as lobby for green/envirnomental issues. Meeting Next Wednesday 30th of March. For more details , contact; enviro-egypt@googlegroups.com

Naguib Sawiris just established a 'liberal/secular' party today (31st of March) called Masr el Haditha. Values seem to be more Liberal, ideology more Capitalist, but it's still forming.

حزب التحالف الشعبي -- Popular Alliance Party : More details here. للمزيد: http://www.facebook.com/popular.alliance.party?sk=wall

6. Art and peformance Groups - performers and performances related to the revolution, also trying to mobilize emotions and wills

Iskenderella of Cairo --They have been singing Imam and Negm and Dawrish songs for years, and most of them are activists. They have a performance fel

Opera, on thursday at 7:00 - THIS EVENT IS OVER.

http://www.facebook.com/Egysdp?ref=ts&sk=wall#!/event.php?eid=197054360327812

Eskenderella of Alexandria -- They hold a series of events on an annual basis under the name 'Zorouny kul sanna mara' this year they will be talking about personal experiences of the revolution as well as poetry adn song.

It will be in Alex, from THursday teh 25th of March, till wednesday the 30th of March

http://www.facebook.com/Egysdp?ref=ts&sk=wall#!/event.php?eid=190246307677398

El Warsha -- A theatre troupe, performing songs, skits, and narratives of experiences of the revolution by activists, and families or martyrs etc.

. 17 Sherif street, downtown THURSDAY THE 31ST OF MARCH , from 8-10 http://www.facebook.com/Egysdp?ref=ts&sk=wall#!/event.php?eid=162731880447598

New Street theatre troupe. A new theatre troupe (that is an off-shoot of rabetat shabab we shabat al thawra); idea is to perform skits related bardo to political issues in public spaces. They had their first workshop/meeting this last Sunday (the 2oth of March) bas if you're interested to join, help or attend workshops, please contact; mai.khalil1212@gmail.com

Al Mastaba - A group of performers from Port Said and Suez and Ismaeleyya, who perform music and songs, particularly resistance once men ayaam '56 and '67, now they've also added, reovlutionary songs that were made up during this period to them.a, Abdin.

El Tanboura Hall: 30 A El Balaqsa Str. Abidin- Downtown - Cairo, for more information, please call 010 3171 76

www.elmastaba.org

THE WHOLE OF CAIRO WILL CELEBRATE THE REVOLUTION AND CALL FOR ITS CONTINUATION ON FRIDAY, THE 1ST OF APRIL. SOME GOVERNORATES (ASSIUT, PORT SAID, MENYA AND OTHER) WILL DO THE SAME. CHECK AL MAWRED'S SITE FOR DETAILS.

http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=5468924317&ref=ts

7. Documenting the Revolution

18 Days In Egypt: A 'crowd-sourcing, crowd-curation' project, and you can contact Ahmed El Laithy (in the comments below) for more details. ahmed.ellaithy@gmail.com

18daysinegypt.com

Archiving the Revolution: A board developed by Khaled Fahmy of AUC to document and archive videos, pictures and stories of the Revolution and eventually make them accessible in the National Archives. Could contact @أحمد غربية for more details: ahmad@gharbeia.org

The University in the Square: AUC project to document the revolution.

http://www.aucegypt.edu/onthesquare

Cultnat initiative to document the revolution, Contact Jan25@cultnat.org

مركز توثيق التراث يوثق البيانات الرقمية المتعلقة بالثورة

http://www.shorouknews.com/ContentData.aspx?id=414026

I am #Jan25 Archive of pictures and videos of January 25 revoluion

أرشيف صور وفيديوهات ثورة يناير

http://iamjan25.com/

مصر تتذكر -- Egypt Remembers

أرشيف شهداء ثورة يناير

Remembering 25th of January Martyrs

A note on Tarek Abdellatif's death - after missing for 6 weeks. By Ahmed Ameen, his cousin

2011-03-18T22:03:00.000Z

The hardest part of a story to write is always the end. The writer sits and wonders how best to phrase their final words and touch the audience that is to read their story. The hardest ending to a story of all is when you’re talking about the end of someone’s story: their life. Harder still is to write about the violent end to a life. Words cease to become adequate. These words are about the end of one man’s life. A man who gave the ultimate sacrifice for expressing his desire of change like any human has the right to.

This man was Tarek Abdelatif Mohamed AlAktash.

Tarek was 36-years-old. He was happily married with kids and had a wonderful job and a loving family. He lived his life according to his faith and values and always lent a helping hand when needed. He was a man you could lean on in difficult times and a man you could rely on to make you feel better when you were sad. He had no political leanings to the left or right and was not affiliated with any political party, much like countless others living in Egypt prior to the events that began on January 25th 2011. On January 28th, Tarek, along with millions of others in Egypt, took to the streets to express his want of a new governmental system and for change from the 30-year rule of one man and his cronies. Late in the morning he marched towards Tahrir Square to shout out his longing and yearning. He was full of life and vibrantly participating in a revolution, but devastatingly, by eleven p.m. that night, Tarek was dead. Later, it was to be revealed that he was shot in the neck by a 4mm bullet that severed his arteries, killing him instantly. However, Tarek’s story was not over.

By the morning of January 29th, Tarek’s wife had alerted his brothers and family members that Tarek had not come home the night before. Worry hadn’t fully set in for them all yet because during that time, cell phone service had been shut off inside Egypt so it was assumed Tarek had spent the night in Tahrir Square. By the morning of January30th, with no sign of Tarek and no contact from him, his family and friends began to mount a search for him by looking for him in the local hospitals, expecting that he had been injured. Their search led them to the French Qasr Al-Ainy hospital where they were told that all the injured and deceased they had treated and received had been identified and that Tarek was not one of them. Needless to say, relief was the prevalent emotion, but its close companions were worry and the beginnings of fear. If Tarek wasn’t there, where was he?

The next chapter in the story spans almost a month and a half. From January 28th to March 9th, Tarek became one of the most searched for people in Egypt. His story was on local and international news stations. Prominent journalists in Egypt spoke of him on their TV programs. They even had contacts within the military and state security that they exhausted day and night asking about him and his whereabouts. The answers they were given by these governmental entities were conflicting and vague at best. Some claimed Tarek was being held as a prisoner and others said they did not where he was. As the days went by, the hopes of finding Tarek dwindled. Tarek’s wife and family left no stone unturned in the search for him. They became frantic, almost obsessive when looking for him. They knew that every day that passed with no Tarek meant that the likelihood of his wellbeing was jeopardized. The trips to the morgues and hospitals became more frequent and the calls to the military slowly ceased. Tarek’s family could do no more in their search for him. All they could do was pray and hope for a miracle.

On March 9th, Tarek’s brothers received a phone call from a stranger telling them that they knew of Tarek’s whereabouts. When asked where, the man on the phone told them his body was at a morgue. The jarring news hit hard. No one had fully expected that Tarek had died but rather, that he was being held prisoner in an undisclosed location. Tarek’s brothers rushed to the morgue and it was there that the ending to his story was written.

What this revolution has made of us; A people

2011-02-14T22:05:00.000Z

And on the occassion of my first cup of coffee in weeks, and my resolve to be optimistic for the next few hours and before the first meeting of the day, i shall reflect :)

( i meant for this to be a reflection of things we went through as a movement, bas it turned out to be a bit more personal. still they're experiences we can all relate to; let's stop for a minute, stock up on positivity and possibility and move forward!)

-- on fear

Thursday night and as we tried to sleep, shivering slightly from the excitement and possibilities of the next day, and the rushed phonecalls and excited whispers of the entire day before (not to mention the pdf document that circulated with our first ever written plan 'how to protest in style'), the phone rang. At the other end was the shrunken voice, of an already small voiced Maysoon from Alexandria. We had spoken earlier and she promised to send the plan for protest sites late into the night, as soon as she knew of them, so i knew where to head when i got there. "el internet et2ata3et...e7temaal ye2fulu bawabaat el qaherra weskendereyya, wel telephone 7aye2ta3 2urayeb awey..". her voice was a mixture of steel resolve and fragile fear; 'matter of factness' - tab ma we all knew the phone lines would go down - but also a latent shared, prounounced albeit tiny running stream of terror. We stayed silent on the phone and i can't remember how long it was, i didn't want to close yet, and i felt she didn't either - and our relationship was only one very short phone-call deep, although perhaps connected by a similar fate.

'tayeb..rabenna ma3ana' was all i could muster and 'khudy balek men nafsek' was all she could. She couldn't tell me where the protests would be, bas assured me they would be everywhere. I assured her, i would find everywhere easily. I shut the phone, and felt terrified. I knew tomorrow would be big, bas had no idea what the extent of violence would be, or how ugly it would get before the light broke through. I knew for certain the arrests would start in a few hours (it was already one am) but i didn't know how far they would stretch. Would it just be leadership figures, would they arrest as many activsts as possible, would there be enough spaces in the prisons?

I couldn't sleep. I called nihal in the states, adn sarah in switzerland, asking them to lobby and protest as much as they could about internet cuts. But that wasn't why i called, i just needed to talk to someone outside or somehow hoped they wouldn't forget. I pretended i couldn't talk for long because i couldn't stop my voice from shaking, i didn't know what i wanted to ask them, but like the phonecall with maysoon i didn't want to close quickly. I got up, and barricaded the door with our make-shift dining table, i checked and planned an escape route from our balconies, noting possible foot-holds and rehearsing various leaps.

This is all funny now, because i'm not a really hard-core activist; they would certainly have more important people to consider, bas the fear i felt, much like the fear i felt on tuesday was just so large. it was larger than dying or the fear of falling, or even the fear of being arrested. hope is something we felt in such large large, larger than life proportions and the fact that that might die was scarier than anything you can imagine. it threatens all of you keda.

But morning did come, and despite my waking yahia up every other hour to check why the dogs were barking and who the doorman was arguing with, and what that clang was, and despite his oscillating between soothing and making fun of me, the sun miraculously came up and the day broke through.

Cairo and Alex were like the morning of any day or planned protest - 'normal'. people strolled from one place to another, or lazed and basked in friday morning-light. All was as it would be anyday, as it would be any friday. Our pick for 'everywhere' in Alex was sidi bishr. there were a few peopel lingering around before the prayer and i spoke to a few of them to check that something was really happening there. And right after the khutba and prayer, three people stepped out and one called out 'ya ahalina ya ahaline; dummu 3aleyna ya ahalina..' - they turned to tens, then hundreds, then hundreds of hundreds in less than minutes.

In two hours the war between amn el markazy with their trucks, and their tear-gas and their rubber (and live?) bullets ensued, against the protestors with their stones, adn their 'throwing tear-gas back' tactics. There was also the very Alexandrian tactics of the families throwing plastic-water bottle bombs from their windows and balconies while chanting 'ya 7kuma ya weskha (clap clap clap clap); ya 7kuma ya weskha' clap clap clap clap; between one water bottle and the other. At this they were also shot at with teargas. And for some reason teh teargas felt much more intense than tuesday.

Throughout there was teh absolutely breathtaking sight to behold (we had clambered unto a roof) of people disspitating and dissappearing into side-streets, and thousands upon thousands rippling in slowly and magnificently from a perpendicular street, or from behind the markazy. Those are sights i will never forget.

Nor the cheer and elation when the amn el markazy retreated shouting in a microphone 'khalas ya shabab, khalas e7na benetraga3 ahuh.. khalas ya shabab'.

And i will certainly never forget the sensation as teh crowds poured unto the corniche, and the two wide lanes filled with people, and the wave upon wave of people that joined the march from every intersecting street we passed. One protest after another emerged victoriously from its neighbourhood and unto the corniche. this could have never ever been planned. We were a sea of people, in hundreds of thousands, flowing directly by the sea, with as much energy, force and musicality. I promised myself to remember that sensation, that very sensation of stregnth everytime a sort of fear gripped me.

On tuesday everytime the tear-gas canisters started or rubber bullets were fired, i was gripped with a fear that made my knees so weak and hard as i tried, i could not find that memory or notion in my head that would comfort me. It was only after that very last raid of incessant tear-gas when we thought we would die adn realized we didn't that you learn that tear-gas doesn't at all, kill you, infact it literaly makes you stronger :) And the notion and idea of a death amongsty so many brave seems less and less daunting

I'm sure each of us have that memory of fear breaking, and a sort of synchrony with people you have never known or seen before, but saw and knew very well at that moment.

On tuesday, the 25th, as we reveled in possibility, a young man turned to me, or perhaps someone beside me and said 'ey da.. da tele3 begad fee naas'. it could not have been better articulated. Da fe3lan fee nas :)

- en e7na bene3raf netsarraf

The moment the police disappeared - and by nightfall (again i was sitll in alex), several individuals roamed the streets with a patch on their shoulders that read 'lagna sha'beyya'. The police withdrawal and the various rumours about the prisoners were starting to ripple through, but almost just as quickly, people got together and formed groups and committees to protect public property such as teh library of Alexandria, as well as homes and personal property such as shops etc. It was INCREDIBLE. Not that it was so spontanesouly organized, bas the extent to which e7na fe3lan bene3raf entsaraf. If Mubarak maintained his power on the basis that life would be chaos without him; i wonder the extent to which we realize, the extent to which we are capable of organizing as a people, not in the absence of the government but also in creating one.

El mawdu3 absat beketir memma takhayalna. The committees were much stronger in Alexandria, they developed subcommittees in every neighbourhood so that every committee had sub committees that were focused on medical and social and security issues and able to provide services to people that not only compensated for the lack of certain aspects of government, but services that never existed anyway. By the time the police were deployed again, (and until a few days ago) their IDs were checked before they were allowed to report to duy and some were monitored.

- on spontaneity and trust

There were vairous moments in tahrir where many of us felt things should be coordinated, or organized, or that we or some of us felt that things should be mobilized in one particular direction or other. Most of these attempts seemed to be failing either because it would turn out several people are already trying to do the same thing, or that it would be impossible to coordiante the efforts or thoughts of such a large mass. Bas as a very wise wael khalil put it, it also meant there was a sort of synergy. Everytime you came up with an idea, it meant at least 3 or 4 groups around you came up with the same idea that very instant. Any attempt to control the idea or co-erce it into any direction failed miserably, because nothing about this movement was to be controlled. THe same spontaneity with which it developed because we were ready, ran through every initiative or everything that took place. At times, it felt hte best thing to do was come up with the idea, marvel at how wonderful it was, adn wait for it to appear, somewhere :)

So there was the instance we decided to collect the various statements of demands that were sprouting; at the time there were 3, and the next day we heard of two more, and the day after that at least three, and then one day; voila, a banner statement of clear demands that stretched the legnth of a building was placed before us all.

Then there was the suggestion or call for 'tas3eed'; whether that involved taking over the TV station or going to the palace, and all the fears and axieites associated with it. And the simplicity and smoothness with which it happened after Mubarak's last speech (khamees al na2ta) on thursday

Though it was hard to stay optimistic some days,at least one thing happened on almost every single day that proved that things were blissfully well beyond our control. Even our imagination. that the sum of our faiths and imaginations, are much wider and much bigger than any one of our imaginations could grasp.

there's a magic in that, and that magic should never ever be forgotten.

- that we did it

there is the very simple, very obvious and now, somehow almost outdated fact that we did it. Once it happened, i felt i wondered if at any one point, or how i could have, at any one point doubted that it would. It is the very material and substantial and obvious 'power of a people'. The fact that we were so many, all over Egypt, that wanted him out, and that we were flexing all our muscles as to what the alternative was. Sure, the issue of constitution may have had us briefly mystified, but that impasse was greatly overcome, as we delved deepr into the question of what the constitution was, how it was written, what it constituted of a social contract between people and their chosen rulers, the fact that it itself stipulated shar3eyyet el thawra; and that the people are the source of all authorities. And that therefore the constitution was void, and really quite irrelevant in this context. The constitution was one of many many myths that stood in our way to power. that and all of the myths that embodied our fear of a repressive regime. Or seeing that most people i know are far braver than i, my own fears. With it the myth of how a government operates, the myth of legitimacy of structure, and the myth of a gaping void of power once it is gone.

the result being the collective decision en 'la mubarak wala suleiman, el kalam dah kan zamaan' adn the growing collective desire that seemed to prefer a clear transitional government that would start with the military; although perhaps that too was a limitation of imagination. i could not imagine an alternative i preferred; though i did and still greatly fear the potentials of a military rule. Hopefully we push for the option of a magles re2asah with civil and military representatives soon..

- politicization of the masses

the fact that we were all able to debate and discuss the constitution, the different possible forms of government, the alternatives to the system we were toppling, and the plurality that defined tahrir. It wasn't just a matter of political affiliations or directions, but it was a question and structure of politics, a realm we had always been so separate from as a people and one we were realizing increasingly we ALL need to be a part of.

- redefining who we are

As Egyptians. This stretches from the sense of humour that ruled and reigned during the protests adn the various slogans, chants and songs that were developing; to the ability to communicate and move forward when most communication lines and channels were severed, to the ability to organize to raise funds and medication and supplies for all for the period we were in tahrir...

all seem to defy all the ideas we had of us as a people; as apathetic or seperated or gated away from each other. it seemed all we needed is a lack of government.

- And finally a lack of nostalgia..

There was always (or at least in my mind and context) this nostalgia to a better time.. whether that was in aspects of Nasser's era or periods before that. Now, there is no period with as much glory as this one. There has been nothing i felt, experienced, heard of or read about in our history or any other that compares to the utopia and fleeting moments of utopia we experienced in tahrir. There is nothing like and no one who did it like we did. There is a great fear and with it a clear criticism of the military coup in 1952 (never again to be referred to as a revolution) and how we run the risks of repetition if we are not careful and demanding of this government.

THere was never a better time than now, and no one has done it as we have. And we are not any one person or any one group, but a whole range of names and faces that filter through my mind right now, some i had never seen before and will never forget, and some i know already i will never see again.

These and many small conversations we'd had with repentant mobinil/vodafone workers who knew about the cut and couldn't stop it; or graduates of law school who remained unemployed for years and questioned how this revolution would serve them; to men who told me honesty we spoke together only because of this revolution as otherwise the blasphemy of the state of my curls would have never allowed; to all the sandwhiches and koshary and water-bottles i've (we all certainly) shared with complete strangers, to the many strangers i have kissed and hugged, shaked hands with, or watched cry, or cried with.

Surely sharing such moments of strong faith and hope, and trust in each other, and absolute distrust in those whove ruled us, and that entire generation with a lapse of imagination has made of us a free generation. We should never doubt our ability to dream up and carry through our future again. Never doubt our entitlement to this country to ourselves. And never doubt our capacity as a people, and the capacity (YES) of good over evil.

We hoped, and we tried, year after year, and somehow a greater larger more dynamic and creative and humbling 'we' did it!

and we have to be SURE we'll continue to...

The stone square.الكعكة الحجرية

2011-02-05T22:09:00.000Z

Tahrir was wondeful yesterday. We will forever live off this whiff of utopia. The field clinics are well equipped, people are working hard to keep the square clean, lots of discussions as to political alternatives, and our dreams for all this country could be in the future. So much love, and a new fresh gush of egyptian protestors who have come home from all over the world; everything can wait, masr can't. You find egypt there as you've never known it. 'We' are finally 'a' people, the circle brings us together, the divides are much more frail. We've found in and amongst ourselves a creativity, resolve, bravery, vision, idealism, truth, peace and love as we've never attributed to ourselves. And learnt the extent to which a history of harsh governance has kept the people apart and skewed our images of ourselves, limited our imaginations as to all we could be. Those of us in tahrir will forever be changed by it. Those outside will continue to leave in the fear and doubt that has poisoned us our entire lives and threatens to do so.

The situation outside tahrir is less ideal. We were caught by a group of baltageyya on our way out of wust el balad wed morning, and handed over to the military police who eventually let us go. Up till yesterday noon i would have described the experience as 'terrifying'. Others were not as lucky, some werekept by military police and interrogated very roughly, others were taken to a detention center run by the army in the egyptian museum and beaten up, and still others are yet to be found.Hisham Mubarak center for Human rights and legal aid's entire staff have been arrested and still can't be found, seems the same can be said for Al Nadeem Centre. Journalists are being arrested and released. It's hard to differentiate the popular committees from the baltageyya (thugs). It's hard to tell whether the pro-mubarak thugs have infiltrated into te 'the people' or if these popular committees have become violently unsympathetic. It's heart-breaking as these commimttees were, much like this protest an organic development of organized solidarity where people swiftly replaced government security apparatus, and grew to offer social, medical and logistical services in their neighbourhoods. In Suez and Alexandria for example they operate as local government councils would ideally operate. Whether it is the government media that is poisoning our minds and turning us against each other, or the poorly paid thugs that are infiltrating the fronts of these local committees, it isn't clear. What is clear however, is that it seems the army has resorted to underhanded violence, and executing a war of attrition.

This movement started out spontaneous anger, and was faithful and true to its two prime slogans ' Selmeyya ' 'peaceful' and 'sha3beyya' 'popular'. People have lost their lives in an attempt to keep it as such. The current government has pulled all its tricks (we have a new trend on a DAILY basis without acception) to infiltrate violence, fear and evil as you can never imagine it, into our ranks. And the youth on the forefront of this movement have worked relentlessly and with awesome bravery to keep this out. How much longer they will survive is not clear.

Stop the violence. End the existance of this government that has kept us apart for decades, and attempts to wedge us apart further. Stand up for who we are, and everything we wish to be.

Revolutionary Diaries; Once upon a Tuesday

2011-01-27T22:07:00.000Z

I wrote this in an email to an academic e- group where the question 'is anyone talking about Egypt and Tunisia? on wednesday the 25th. The spell was definately cast or broken, that tuesday, the 25th of January :) (february, 12th)

We have, on the streets all the time.

Cairo has been discussing Egypt for a decade. What tunis did is reveal that it is indeed a possibility; an entitlement, and not only an intellect's whimsy. The main slogan being shouted on the streets on tuesday was 'al shaa'b yurid esqaat al nedham' ' The people want to topple the regime' ; it is the main tunisian slogan, we even say it with a twist of Tunis.

Rhetoric has always been the safest place to be. As oppositional newspapers multiplied, it became easier adn easier for people to talk about corruption and oppression and relate policies directly to their lives; develop resentments etc. Before that there was always the idea that 'we wouldn't have known how to do it better ourselves' ; thus people try at best to keep their lives as is, and not expose themselves to the possibility of things falling apart.

What tunis made people realize, is that you can't wait for the governemt to do anything and that revolutions don't only belong in history. It's not just something your parents talk about. Geography denied it. No one could imagine tahrir occupied.

What tuesday gave us is a sense of who we are. I met the doorman's daughter; we met the man who sells ful sandwhiches from another district in town, people met their drivers, there were thousands of organized soccer fans (and i think they made this a protest like no other).

The thing about tuesday is, you always think you know 'people'. You see them around you all the time, and you forget through things like facebook and twitter that you don't reall see them, talk directly to them, and so you don't really know anyone. You know your friends.

On tuesday we knew lots of people. People were sitting in groups for hours discussing constitutions, policies, the elections, and what we could possibly wish for. Did we not really fear a revolution or chaos. where would we fall as individuals, how would we fare as groups. If we could push for something what would it be.. if we could ask for something, what would it be.

The only thing i find difficulty to deal with is state central security. THey were outnumbered by far on tuesday (which is a rare happening) and they were terrified. They have acquired a human face for protestors over the last few years. I have an experience where a few helped me get away once, sometimes they sing along with national/resistance songs, adn sometimes they have conversations, and sometimes they just smile.

Tuesday, they looked terrified. they retreated many times. Protestors scared a number of police cars away, pulled a man off a fire engine (ending the water-spraying strategy) and every time there was a clash between protestors and cetral security forces, a black helmet went flying through the air. By night, when things were calmer and befor the final attack, people were walking around in central security helmets, in their shields, and one person i saw had a bullet proof vest.

People came in to sell balloons, walked around with trays of tea and bread and sandwhiches. And the protesters created a 'lagnet 'eaasha' - subsistence committee where money was collected and food and blankets bought.

People cut down bushes and used twigs to created little campfires, and built little tends. Anti mubarak slogans were all over the ground and spray painted on metro walls and entrances. Street-lights carried flags and a carton-made mubarak hanging from a noose.

Tahrir was tranformed.

Just as people thought we would spend the night, rumours of different froms of attack spread, and then a very brutal and relentless tear-gas raid happened. Even as we ran out of the square and into downtown they intercepted with more teargas. The trip ended at one am for me when i couldn't take the teargas and couldn't run. But protestors continued the chase throughout cairo until 3 and 6 am. This time attacked with rubber bullets.

No one knows what this will lead to. The situation is much deeper entrenched in Egypt than anywhere else. But this sense of freedom has been seeeping in for very long, and we have been very very constructive with it. We have been nibbling at the political spehre, but independant spheres of arts and culture and technology have been advancing for a decade or more.

One thing is for sure; and that is that this sense of possibility is stronger than ever and irretreivable. Downtown cairo will never be teh same again. We felt extreme excitement and feared for our lives for the first time.. we started at the concrete as we fell or ran and wondered if these were last breaths. It will never be the same again.

We will never be teh same again.

We are 'we', as we've never been before.

Alia

كأنك مفيش - لأحمد فؤاد نجم

2010-10-14T10:02:00.000+01:00

كأنك مفيش ..
برغم إن صورك فـ كل الدواير
وكل المداخل وكل المحاور
ومليا الشوارع على كل حيط ..
مطنش علينا وعامل عبيط ..
كأنك مفيش ..
***
يا فرحة قلوبنا رئيسنا ظريف ..
فُكهي ..
إبن نكته ودمه خفيف
فـ عهدك سيادتك فَرَشنا الرصيف
وآخر مُنانا الغُموس والرغيف
وكل أمَّا تُخنُق ندوَّر ..
مفيش !!
***
مسيِّب علينا عصابة حبايبك
فضايح وسرقة ونهب بسبايبك
مابين حزب نجلك .. وهانم جلالتك
وجيش الغوازي إللَّي داير يجاملك
وناملك وقاملك .. وحارسك وأمنك
شبعنا مهانه .. شبعنا لطيش ..!
وأنت .. مفيش !!
***
باعونا فـ حضورك ..
ببركة عِبـيدك وغالي وسرورك
باعوا الأراضي .. وكل المصانع
وباعوا البنوك ..
وقدَّام عِنيك .. صوتنا إتـنبح ..
ننادي عليك ..
إلحق يا ريس : ده باعوا الحديد !!
وأنت منشِّف دماغك عنيد !!
.. كأنك مفيش !!
***
دوشتوا دماغنا ” بجمال ” طلعتك
ومن يومها وإحنا عَبـيد حضرتك
ما تزعلش إني مواطن أبيح
ورافض كلابك فـ شعبك تطيح
فسادهم يا ريِّس واضح .. صريح
قوم بينا صلّح وفتَّش .. وثور
ح نكتب تاريخك ياريِّس بنور
مش تبقى عايش كأنـَّك مفيش !!
***
ورحمة أبوك .. مادام أنت قاعد
عيب لمَّا عُصبة نَـوََر يسحبُوك
م تُقبض عليهم .. م تقطع إيديهم ..
م تعمل عليهم يا ريِّس شاويش
بدل م انت ساكت وقاعد مفيش
***
ياريس علىّ الطلاق تعبانين !!
ياريس علىّ الحرام كفرانين !!
صبرنا سنين ..
سيادتك مسلطن
وشعبك وناسك بتاكل مسرطن
وتشرب مجاري وميت سم هاري ..
ومش دريانين !!
ما تنهض يا ريس تلم الديابه ؟!!
ده شعبك غلابه ..
ومليان طيابه ..
وهوَّ الشفاعة ف يوم الحساب
وهما البطانة الحُثاله الكلاب
ما يملاش عنيهم غير التراب
وليهم ضوافر
وميت ألف ناب
وواقفين لشعبك ورا كل باب
لإمتى ح تسكت وليه الغياب ؟
ده ياما ممالك طواها التراب
حياتنا ياريس تعب فوق عذاب
يا ريس ” شريفك ” ماهوَّاش شريف !!
” نظيفك ” يا ريس ماهوَّاش نظيف !!
وحتى ” حبيبك ” ماهواش حبـيب !!
وأنا غصب عني .. خلاص إستويت ..
بـ غـُلبي إنحنيت ..
وطلعان عنيا .. وصعبان عليا
بحسبة بسيطة ومن غير خريطه ..
وكونك مفيش .. لقيت متساويش
ومش فارقه أعيش ..
نويت أشتكيك للِّي فوقي وفوقك
وأصلي الفرايض ..عسى يفـُك طُوقـك
قالولي إللي يسجد عدو النظام !!
حاولت أحكي حالي ..!!
قالولي الحكاوي نميمة وحرام !!
فكرت أكتب ..
لقيتكم سيادتك منعتوا الكلام !!
فقررت أحلم ..
هاحلم سيادتك وأفُك اللِّجام
ولو مش هيعجب سيادتك يا فندم
وصِّي العساكر .. تاخُدني أمَّا انام !!
***
حلمت إني شعب ..!
حلمت إني شعب ومصلوب بطولي
على أرض سمرا
ودمي بينـزف ومليان جروح
وفوق صدري جمرة
يميني مربّط على أرض طابا
شمالي ممسمر فـ “أولاد علي”
ورجلي على جزع نخلة فـ “حلايب”
ومرتاح براسي على حِجْر مصر
وشوفتك ياريس ..كأنك ولي ..
كأنك نبي ..
فـ إيدك عصاية وليك معجزات

وانا فـ جنَّه خضره .. وتحتي جداول ..
ومن فوقي نور .. وريحة بخور ..
همست ف ودانك بآخر وصيّة :
إنسى إللي فاتك ..
هننسى الأسية .. !!
أمانه عليك ..
حُط الوطن جُوَّه نِنِّي عينيك
كرامة عيالنا أمانة ف إيديك
بحق إللي بينّا يا ريِّس وبـينك
وحَق اليَمِين و” الكتاب ” فى يمينك
بحق الشهيد .. إللي رافع جبينك
وجيش إنتصارك فى يوم العبور
وجيل حُر طالع .. وعدته بدور
لملم عيالك .. وجمَّع فـ مالك
وإسحب ” جمالك ” وسيبنا وغور

مكاتيب السنيين

2010-10-14T10:01:00.003+01:00

There is something incredibly haunting about Fairuz's new song; ايه, في أمل

There is the fact that her voice has matured so..

a ba77a keda, at the turn of every phrase at the start of a sigh, at the push of a sentiment.

There is also such a contrast to her usual song. mesh 3arfa ezzay..

She recounts a love is no longer معقول

bas not with the longing, the yearning, or the ridiculing anger that i'm used to..

في أمل؟

إيه في أمل، أوقات بيزهر من ملل....و أوقات لللحظة ليخفف زعل

As in one of my favorate songs;

في إدامي مكاتيب السنين

bas this time;

حبيييبي، حبيييبي، ما عاد يلمسني الحنين

There is no denial of a past;

في ماضي منيح بس مضى

صفى بالريح بالفضه

bas there is deep closure

وبيضل تذكار عن مشهد صار

في خبز، في ملح،في رضى

There's even her own disbelief that something, once so strong, is no longer there..

حبييييبي، احساسي هال أد معقوله بيزول

Perhaps it is how sobering the song is. Perhaps it is all that she is coming to. All that was beautiful that is gone. Mash-had we enqada. All the memories that remain, but the feelings that cannot be rekindeled. There is no drama, but there is also no حنين

There is her contemplation of all that is good, and all that is possible, her affirmation that 'ايه, في أمل

but that it does not emerge of a possibility; this hope, perhaps a yearning for a nostalgia that is no longer there...

It's always impossible to listen to fairuz sing and not relate on some level. it's impossible not to imagine her having felt every word , experienced it to the core.

bas there's something so much deeper and probing about this song. it's not their relationship. or maybe this is how i relate to it. something deeply binding between us and a world that changes so quickly. why hope springs up at times, and why you know better than it. An acknolwedgement of all that is beautiful, but a sobering realization of how with every day, her life too passes, and the necessity of moving on.

ta-nerja3 , la2 mesh ma32ul. There's no going back.

With every realization she starts with a probing, pleading; '؛حبيييييبي، حبيييييبي as if to break it softly, reaussringly..

and with every 'acknowledgement' of all that 'was' beautiful, there is a catch; a catching, almost croaked 'بس

She ends it, knowing how much of her 'short-sightedness' he has been propogating to others. Perhaps his disbelief that she will not reconsider.

and this subtle, haunting, and punctuating end;

حبيبي كرماللي، اتنيناتنا بنعرف شو صار

but we don't know. for a change.

and we're left with a song that confirms that ايه, في أمل

But, with a newer more matured fairuz, in a world that is so different from her last beit el dine concert, she reminds us;

تنرجع: لأ مش معقول

Yearnings..

2010-09-25T11:53:00.002+01:00

«..fiery yearnings their own phantom-futures make, and deem it present. So, after all these fearful, fainting trances, the verdict be, the golden haven was not gained - - yet, in bold quest thereof, better to sink in boundless deeps, than float on vulgar shoals; and give me, ye gods, an utter wreck, if wreck I do.»

Herman Melville

things that make mornings worth getting up for

2010-09-21T08:17:00.000+01:00

the nutella jar says 'saba7 el kheyr' on its lid.

I'll smile and say 'saba7 el ful ya eshta'...

The teal fan with beautiful matfeyya golden blades that sherine got from souq el gum3a, the name starts to ring with the romance of an old city in ruins, every shard telling a story.

It gathers its strength with a hesitant sputter, like you've woken it up from a deep slumber, and it is quickly obliging, quickly before you spot that moment of hesitation. Deep inside i know one day, it may try and fail to oblige, but that makes the split second of suspense a reward every morning. Sputter spark starts the day with a breeze of tarawa.

the morning breeze as of late. ever so subtle. a sigh of fresh air.

the cab ride on my mornings of late. There's no name for where i work realy. For 'us' it is 'near darb'. for the rest of cairo, well, you try it. I call it el '7erafeyeen'. it sounds cairo-esque, basically it is where it is, but there seems to be no consensus behind the name but me, my imagination and my poor vacant memory that concedes to anything we tell it,it must have remembered hearing.

And so i try different things. Most often it's 'masr el adima' because i've learnt it pays to be as vague as possible. i think they see me waving them down in degla and they think 'dee akher-ha samia allouba aw greco...'

so sometimes i try 'kum ghuraab' el fakhareen.. 'el fustat', 'am-ib'el'3aas'! And sometimes, only a few very special special times i said 'batn el baqar'. I love it. I love the way the words roll of my lips. I love the image of the cow's fat rippling belly i get every time. I feel like my voice changes as i say it, it comes from my throat keda. I also feel like after i say it i should wipe my nose and mouth with the back of my right or left hand.

that my left eye should twitch. when the driver goes 'eyh?!' i should go 'aywaaa batn el baqar.. eeyhh fe 7aga?!' (and i stop for a few menacing seconds 3and 'eyh', my features contorted in warning, my hands slowly hovering closer adn closer to that none existant matwa in my pocket), his own contorted features relax, every new wrinkle folding back into the clearness of his face.. 'erkaby erkaby...'

in truth, i say it meekly and when they say 'eyh' i say, ' err, masr el adima' ? smile.

One driver told me to stop saying 'Kum Ghuraaab' that it was misleading.

It was with much difficulty that i did. My first 'job' working with kids, involved interacting with a mahmoud moukhtar who did art with working children. and he got them to paint the houses that make my neighbourhood, and that frame the kubry i take to come to work everyday. The project was called Kum GHurab. and it was about getting the kids engaged in making kum ghuraab something they were proud of.

I tried to explain this to the can driver but he could barely lift his eyes off the road for a second to take the colors in as we passed the kubry, and in the context of a long discussion where he was trying to understand where EXACTLY my office was and help me with the key words that would land me a cab driver and not tafesh one, he kept insisting..

'huwwa esmuh kubry el 3aasher.. khaleeky bas fe kubry el 3aasher..'

as we make the last left turn that opens masr el adima into the quarter of creativity our very colorful office is tucked into, i get almost the same sentence.. 'tesada2ey ba2a enny 3umry ma geyt henna abl keda...' or sometimes it's a bit like 'tesada2ey ba2a enny sawa2 taaaaksi.. we 3umrey mageyt henna abl keda'. The latter is my favorite because the first part of the sentence takes a bit of a stretch and the second happens quickly..

'tesADA2EY ba2a enny sawa2 TAAKSEY..we3umreymagetyhennablkeda..'

it makes the twenty pounds (and not the 6 pounds it would cost if i took the nearest metro station) worth it to feel enny wasa3t khayalhum el qaaherey walaw leshebr.

i'm sure somehow, somehow, finding a little creativity quarter in the city, makes it that much easier to breathe.

and maybe one day and several summer trips later (in the winter i HAVE to start taking the metro), i will be able to wave a cab down and say 'el shughl!'

or maybe there will be more consensus 3ala el 7erafeyeen :)

صباح النور عليكم وصباحٌ آخر على كل الناس

deeds cannot dream what dreams can do..

2010-09-20T15:50:00.001+01:00

[as freedom is a breakfastfood]

BY E. E. CUMMINGS

as freedom is a breakfastfood

or truth can live with right and wrong

or molehills are from mountains made

—long enough and just so long

will being pay the rent of seem

and genius please the talentgang

and water most encourage flame

as hatracks into peachtrees grow

or hopes dance best on bald men’s hair

and every finger is a toe

and any courage is a fear

—long enough and just so long

will the impure think all things pure

and hornets wail by children stung

or as the seeing are the blind

and robins never welcome spring

nor flatfolk prove their world is round

nor dingsters die at break of dong

and common’s rare and millstones float

—long enough and just so long

tomorrow will not be too late

worms are the words but joy’s the voice

down shall go which and up come who

breasts will be breasts thighs will be thighs

deeds cannot dream what dreams can do

—time is a tree(this life one leaf)

but love is the sky and i am for you

just so long and long enough

because i cannot remember..

2010-09-20T15:21:00.002+01:00

because i cannot remember what it feels like to write it straight out without first channeling it through my mind. and because there is nothing i yearn to do as deeply and profoundly...

for years it felt like i outgrew this space, whereas i think i just grew so suddenly i could no longer keep track of how far my proportions stretched.

i think i still fit.

يتحرك

2007-04-24T10:35:00.000+01:00

"The Unthinkable Revolution in Iran" -- Charles Kurzman

I sent this a life-time (and a half) ago, and i was just skimming through the notes i took off the book and came across it again.

I really recommend the book. Not only does it cover the revolution in Iran nicely (from the people's perspective) but the author keeps trying to find the 'tipping point' when did the 'unthinkable' become 'imaginable' when 'possible'...
Where did it start.. what happened to the left... how did the numbers grow? Where did the workers and peasants derive their sense of agency. How did the balance of power start to shift... How did oblivion gain so mch appeal over the present..

I was just at the discussion regarding the effect of the constitutional changes on the socio-political, economic and int'l relation realm and agenda, and the question of where we go from here..

The discussion once again veared to the pheonomena of the spontaneous workers strikes that continue to inspire us all, and the picture that is dense dark and deep, and yet fascinating in its shifting dynamics once you step outside and take a broader more comprehensive look.

Whether it was this, the worker's symposium at the cairo conference, hearing the topics of chit-chat in the cafe's in maadi, the cab drivers, amongst the social workers in el sayyeda and the questions posed by the bedouins of Sinai, there is always the feeling that there is movement.
I leave you with Kurzman..

Tosbe7un 3ala... :)

"10 percent or more of the Iranian population participated in the demonstrations and general strike that toppled Shah Mohammed Reza Pahlavi. By Comparison, less than 2 percent of the population participated in the French Revolution, and less than 1 percent participated in the overthrow of soviet communism.
The Iranian revolution is deviant in an academic sense as well. According to social-scientific explanations for revolution, it shouldn't have happened when it did, or at all. These theories lead us to expect sullen quiescence in the face of the monarchy's armed forces or scattered protests in light of the radicals' lack of recourses or various other scenarios. The more we learn about the details of the revolution the more evidence we find that resists existing explanation. In particular we discover an atmosphere of overwhelming confusion. As protests mounted against the shah, Iranians had no idea what was going to happen. Would the shah's regime fall? Would protests be suppressed or peter out? Iranians polled friends and strangers ceaselessly to find answers to the questions, yet the answers careened unpredictably. In such momentous times, Iranians could not even predict their own actins, much less those of their compatriots.

Massive change cannot be known in advance, but only as it is happening. Widespread knowledge of change is part of the change itself. People sense that something big is occurring, and their responses help shape the event." Charles Kurzman - The Unthinkable revolution in Iran

Endgame? Maybe not...

2007-04-22T12:49:00.000+01:00

This entry is my take on the protests of the 25th of March that Sam blogged about.

Though i cannot speak for sam or 'those people' i can at least very quickly tell you about my experience.

This post is not a reply to any particular argument as much as it is the stream of thoughts and recollections of the protest instigated by the posted arguments.

The protest of the 25th was one of my most frustrating experiences ever, not really because of what happened in the protest ad ma that i myself felt completely un-represented, and not by anyone but myself. I went to express my frustration and anger at the constitutional changes but found myself thinking and battling a million other things that were completely unrelated.

As angry as i lef the whole thing, there were a few powerfully bright moments for me during the mozahra.

The first is that the first time i was shoved, there were three of us girls and whilst each reacted by shoving back very angrily, what i would have done before, i found myself in a 'how could you do this to me' confrontation, and i was genuinely genuinely hurt..
he had done nothing but push, but for some reason my reaction was that of a hurt 18-year old, and not a person that had seen and almost experienced this several times before. And for some reason, perhaps that i looked genuinely upset and not angry, the man spread his arms out as if to show he wasn't going to do anything, apologized and asked me to give him another choice.

At a later point in the mozahra, and with more conversations with the soldiers , not only did i feel 'tawasul' benna we benhom for the very first time, (at least for me) but they were reactive, and even PROTECTIVE at several points.. and this, to me, was HUGE!
At another teary point, i started asking how he could look at us and treat us in a way and not imagine someone doing the same to a sister or mother and they said 'wallahi, e7na ghalaaba, law ta3rafy benet2ezzey fel mawaqef dee ad eyh.. law bas ta3rafy..'

This is something i had always told myself 'they only hurt because they have to' but it was different to hear it from them.

At any rate, we some-how reached the point after conversing at such to lay out common fears.. not only did they let us stand in particular places, they told us when to leave or step back when they feared the zobaat or notorious plain-clothed footmen were coming. Once again i could be naiive, but i FELT genuine concern.

In Iran right before the revolution, the movement members, and particularly students in early 79 would take clothes with them to the mozahrat, and pull soldiers from the barraks into the crowds and dress them in normal clothes so they could escape in camouflage. And there was a considerable rate of desertion in that period, to the extent that higher ranks stopped sending soldiers of the barracks into the streets. They were increasing the mozahra in number.

In checkslovakia in the 80s i think, it was similar - the students collaberated with the soldiers so that they gave the soviet invaders wrong directions and helped confused them.

The difference between Egypt and both these cases is that there was always someone in these crowds who knew or was related to a soldier. That is where our divide is an issue. We come from different worlds. This was particularly clear in the autrocities of May 2005 - the NDP hired thugs, could not at all relate to the girls they attacked. There was no reasoning, they were somehow turned against us in hate.

In 2004 when i first started talking to people around the protests, the attitude was always fe3lan 'what are they doing' - 'why are they doing this..' - 'what is their problem with mubarak - da katar kheyr el ragel..' and later on there was the 'da ba2alu 24 sanna men gheyr agaza' argument - this changed slowly over time, until now when you will notice that people in the street sometimes jump into protests and 3asaker sing along iwth us, and even sometimes call out the slogans absent-mindedly.

At another teary point, i started asking how he could look at us and treat us in a way and not imagine someone doing the same to a sister or mother and they said 'wallahi, e7na ghalaaba, law ta3rafy benet2ezzey fel mawaqef dee ad eyh.. law bas ta3rafy..' this is something i had always told myself 'they only hurt because they have to' but it was different to hear it from them.

At any rate, we some-how reached the point after conversing at such to lay out common fears.. not only did they let us stand in particular places, they told us when to leave or step back when they feared the zobaat or notorious plain-clothed footmen were coming. Once again i could be naiive, but i FELT genuine concern.

The cab driver i went home with, talked to me about the importance of mo2at3et el estefa2, and the very same thing happened to a friend of mine in another cab.

In the mozahra itself, after the arrests and as the rest of us were walking down from tal3at 7arb to the neqaba, several things happened.

A very old woman with her daughter stepped in, and the girl hooked her arms with mine, they asked if we were protesting increase in prices. I explained the constitution, but before i started to talk abotu certain articles, it turned out they already knew about a considerable few. They talked for a while, then the mother told ehr daughter if she knew so much, why wasn't she with us? Could we please come do this in alexandria?? The old woman said she herself would be out in daily protests if need be, if only she found peopel who thought like her.

What seperates her from them is fear, and a very long period of silence, that can be accounted to a variety of reasons.

A while earlier upon a confrontation with a soldier, a random person from the street interfered between the soldier and me and told him off big time. Seeing him do this, another random one stepped out from the crowd and asked me if he touched me, if he did, she would show him. What, the constitution, and kaman hurt their children?

A third incident is a young girl and a young man who stepped in and said they would shout out any slogans we wanted and say anythign we said, as long as they were inside the crowd. Could we take their numbers and call them? They were in university and watned to be part of the movment but most of their colleagues were too scared.

I was away when the ammendments were anounced to be ratified so early... i was informed as soon as i came back by my grandmother. She was furious. She is not necessarily aware of any contention, but she rarely misses an opportunity to practice her right to vote. The fact that they rushed the date as such, annoyed her (as it made it more difficult for her to plan to go vote) and made her very suspicious of all the rush. So she found the ammendments and read them.

The situation has changed so much. Changed in the sense that people have become so aware of what's happening, and also changed in the sense that the cost-benefit analysis no longer calls for el mashy gamb el 7eyt. I think a factor that has contributed to the change is partially attributable to the protests in the street. Mainly to the development of 'alternative' spaces. The protests being carried out in the streets, made anti-corruption and anti-regime slogans so popular that people feel so much more comfortable saying it. It's like they linger in the background and are safe to draw upon. That was two years ago. Now people can tell you how corruption in a particular department is direclty affecting his/her life. It is no logner unreachable and far away, nor is it mystified.

Also, the blogs, garayed el mo3arda have created spaces where all these issues are openly analyzed and tackled.. and so all of us have become aware. Most people have newspapers read to them, or read them themselves. There's also el 3asherra masa2an and el qaherra el yom and the other channels that more openly contest and condone.. all these spaces are accessable to a great number of people.

And finally there are these initiatives like ours.. THere is Fat'het Kheir and Nahdet el Mahrousa, and Resala and all the other initiatives where we have come together and tried to create a little space where we can live and practice life the way we believe it should be. We found no agency in teh public cirlces and created our own. ANd it is happening all over the country. Look at the 3omaal.. and the falla7een.. look at the movements breaking out all over the country.

I am not calling, nor am i insinuating anything as big as i know my tone and enthusiasm will. I know i am an optimist, but i can say at least , at the very least, things have changed.

There are more and more spaces we can 'all' pitch in into. No one can claim to represent anyone. The inherent flaw in teh concept of a democracy is that it cannot represent all, and manges always to marginalize those it does not speak for. When teh forefathers sat to write the first constitution 'democratically' they were white male landowners.. and i'm sure they weren't thinking of women, non-landowning, or even african americans as they scripted it. It just doesn't happen.

I was interviewing a leadership figure from the MB once and we were going through several issues of concern in terms of the laws with which they would rule, should they develop a poltiical agenda to rule. After a certain point, he waved his hands in frustration and bent over closer and said;
'Enty mesh lama tetweldy fe balad.. fe 7adara, betemshey 3ala qawaneen el balad dee..'
His argument was that you are born into a civilization or country and follow and abide by the rules and laws in that country. If they do not represent you, you might as well leave.

As creul as it sounded and as infuriated as i was, particularly that he waved any argument i made, having lost his patience... i could find sense in it later on.
Not because i believed in what he said, but because even 'democratic notions' as we preach of them are EX and not INCLUSIVE. Just saying 'we the people' 'na7nu el sha3b' means there is a we and a not we. We cannot all be spoken for.

Someone , also an outsider joined the protest and somehwere in the middle screamed in frustration, "FEYN EL SHA3B?!?!??!!"

E7na el sha3b. And we are so many.

...صح النوم

2007-02-06T06:10:00.000Z

On the lives we lead and the imaginative forms of resistance/non-resistance :)

السائق: اسمع دي: "واحد ماشي في الصحراء لقى مصباح علاء الدين...دعكه...طلع له جني...قال له شبيك ابيك أمرك بين إيديك, الراجل مصدقش عينيه وراح طالب ميليون جنيه...راح
الجني مديله نص مليون... قال له طب وفين النص التاني؟ إنت حتخنصر من أولهاو الجني رد عليه وقال له أصل الحكومة مشاركة في المصباح فيفتي فيفتي", تم إنفجر ضاحكاً: أضحكتني ضحكته أكثر من النكتة.

السائق: إنت عارف إن الحكومة فعلاً بتاخد ييجي نص مكسبا؟
أنا: إزاي؟

السائق: عن طريق التأليب.... كل شوية يطلعوا لنا في حدوتة جديدة...بس صراحة أحلى واحدة بتاعة الحزام
أنا: ماله الحزام؟

السائق: ما إنت أكيد عارف إن الحزام ده أصلاً كدب في كدب, الكل عارف إن الحزام ده ديكور, يعني بنركبه أونطة (....)

إحنا عايشين في كدبه ومصدقنها...والحكومة دورها الوحيد إنها تراقب إن إحنا مصدقين الكدبة

من "تاكسي :حواديت المشاوير" لخالد الخميسي

I think this last sentence is powerfully descriptive of el wad3 in general..
This particular story was the one presented at the back of the book - out of respect for the writer's copywrights, and an effort to get you to buy this book! A book, i believe we've all been wanting to write forever :)
(How many of us have scribbled a mental or written note to write down all they've learnt, all they've heard of jokes and tales and experiences from cab drivers....)

James Scott presented this notion of 'public transcripts' that a hegemonic/ruling power enforces, be it rhetoric, habit or procedure to make sure it maintains rule over its 'subjects'.

In the late 19th centry, the falla7een on certain areas of ba7arey, wrote petitions to the ministry of interior and sometimes even directly to the khedewy, complaining of el 3omdas or the governmnet officials that cheated them as they measured and taxed their lands. Needless to say, these farmers , in the late 1800s, could not right. However, it seems, when they found that the prevailing system was one of petitions (or the system set by the governemnt) they tried to buy into the existing system in order to ensure htey got their rights. So, they would hire a petition writer, (someone who claimed to be able to write, as the petitions are drenched in spelling mistakes) and used a language and terminology that was clearly government rhetoric and not what they were used to. The idea or notion that they were 'adopting' a language or rhetoric was also particularly clear in how the details of the petition itself were oh-so-difficult to decode. It reads like a thousand people are 'talking' and not 'writing' at the same time. In the eye of my mind i can see 10 or twenty standing around the 'petition writer' shouting out what they have been subjected to...

Their power is an oral one - it was one that relied on gestures, tone of voice, facial expression and details.. it was obviously difficult to encapsulate it all in words that were to reside on a piece of paper and speak on their behalf. Also, although they seemed to enjoy a clear sense of pride and 3azeema, there was alot of referece to the almost 'majestic' or Godly ministers, and a reference to themselves as slaves or subjects.
There was alot of 'cunningness' between the lines... these were not stupid people, nor were they mazluleen in anyway. It was more of a , 'if this is the way you work...' or 'if this is how you will listen, then in the name of my taxes...i am here to claim my rights...'

A number of years into this, the government stopped collecting taxes from el falla7een, and thus robbed them of their negotiating power - teh taxes somehow helped them buy into the system.. 'if i'm paying anyway...'
and the petitions stopped.

Another thing this reminded me of awey, was Fairuz's play 'Sa7 el Nom'..
It was presented in Lebanon, just as the current protests were exploding in late November. Lebanon was tight, and bursting at the seams.. the air was tense and no one had any idea what was going to happen.. An explosion was coming and this was clear.. bas what would it be? A huge protest? A civil war? Riots? Even when it was anounced as a huge protest/strike.. the puppeteers behind it were still not clear. People were stocking up on basic food items, jobs were being lost, tanks were strolling down narrow lanes.. There was an air of tight suspense, and a period of suspended lawlessness keda.. as if all the thin lines of discipline, legality and all those strings that keep us together, were suddenly and momentarily suspended, and no one could really tell what was going to happen.

"if you want to buy anything, buy it now... i don't know when and if i'll open again..." An old shop-keeper called at us as we contemplated buying a book.

In the play (sorry for diverging and divulging!) El Sultan el 7akem, slept all month 'round and woke up when the moon was full. He would wake up, sit in his court and people would come up to him one at a time with their pleas and requests - they needed to buy a piece of land, open a store, get married; in Fairuz's case she needed a new roof.. all these requests large and small had to be stamped by the sultan to be processed. THe issue of whether or not the petition was passed depended greatly on the kind of gift he was presented..
Moreoever, by the time he reached the third or fourth petition he would start getting sleepy, and all would have to wait till the same time next month!!!

The deal is, Fairuz steals the stamp after he sleeps, and stamps the rest of the petitions away. She then panics about being found with the stamp and throws it in a well. Come the next month, the sultan cannot find the stamp and the village errupts in panic. PANIC.
HOW WILL WE EVER LIVE?

This was as hillarious as it was ironicallly and eerily true. THe sultan was wailing and wailing how he had become just like his ra3eyya... no different. He no longer had any power over them. It was the stamp that symbolized and encapsulated his authority and now that it was gone what authority did he have over them? they could all live on without needing his monthly permission. and get this; teh whole village paniced with him!! THe priority then, to EVERYONE was to FIND the stamp! Otherwise, what system would we have. Everyone was thrown in utter confusion and the stamp had to be found for life to continue. :)
Ya3ni with a tyrant this lazy you would expect a revolution of sorts... no more stamp! hip hip....!
But it was more like " Oh -shit... now how does it work???"

And so it seems there is sometimes a comfort in this sort of system... In a tyranny that can be expected, and one that you can build or construct your life around. If htis is the way you work ( it doesn't really matter how ridiculous or unfair it is) you're in control; you're the boss, so here you go...

Scott and others speculate tab3an that folklore, arts, plays, songs, poetry, is what people use, (the populace ya3ni) to express the truth of how they feel/think of things...
Ironically though in a country like ours; plays, songs, poetry, are used and have been used for a very long time to get us to think and act in a paritcular way. Notions of nationalism and patriotism and the values and zeal of the revolution for eg were very well fed to us and our parents as such.

Those social scientists believe people find ways to express' their own true 'hidden trascripts' at home or through their very own creative channels. I think in casese like ours, we very knowingly and cunningly adopt the transcripts, buy into the system and find our way around it. El 7ede2 yegebha. And then we talk , quite openly about whatever it is we believe in. Let them dictate their lies, and we will nodd and lie along with them... like the cab driver indicated

...والحكومة دورها الوحيد إنها تراقب إن إحنا مصدقين الكدبة...
أنا أعتقد إن دورها التأكيد على إننا كلنا بنلعب اللعبة كويس - وكل حد عارف إن محدش مصداْ حاجة.

All said; i think one of the most powerful effects of social movements, and of these particular movements in Egypt in general, is that the infaliability of such regimes, and such transcripts,slowly but surely falls apart. The realization that it is all a lie and a game becomes so blatantly clear to us, that it becomes difficult day by day to play along.. especially when you realize that you wait and work all month long, and never actually ever get your turn... How much we could do without the stamps becomes clearer and clearer to us...

And then? After the tipping points?
Let's wait and see :) we're living it out!

Till then though as an ethiopian proverb in one of Scott's books relates;
"When the great lord passes by, the wise peasant bows low and silently farts..."

And they get louder, and smellier.

يا أغلى صاحب

2006-11-08T19:46:00.000Z

أكثر من معركة

سميح القاسم القسم

في أكثر من معركةٍ دامية الأرجاءْ
أشهر هذي الكلمات الحمراء
أشهرها.. سيفاً من نارِ
في صفِّ الإخوة.. في صفِّ الأعداء
في أكثر من درب وعْرِ
تمضي شامخةً.. أشعاري
و أخافُ.. أخاف من الغدرِ
من سكين يُغمد في ظهري
لكني، يا أغلى صاحب
يا طيّبُ.. يا بيتَ الشعرِ
رغم الشكّ.. و رغم الأحزانِ
أسمعُ.. أسمعُ.. وقع خطى الفجرِ!
رغم الشكّ.. و رغم الأحزانِ
لن أعدم إيماني
في أنّ الشمس ستشرقُ..
شمس الإنسانِ
ناشرةً ألوية النصرِ
ناشرةً ما تحمل من شوقٍ و أمانِ
كلماتي الحمراء..
كلماتي.. الخضـراء !ء

Lebnaneyyat - Children of Hreik

2006-10-26T00:29:00.000+01:00

We were supposed to work with water bottles today. Empty plastic water bottles.
I'd collected some over the week and they came in with a few (few awey) themselves.
the deal was that we would work with around 20 kids, 8-12 years of age; that way it would be most effective.. i could work with up to 25 and if they were more we would divide them in groups and give them different activities.
so we had around 30 bottles between us, and around 40 kids. Aged 6-15. yup, a little off the mark after all.
We ended up buying more water bottles (as the situation got a little dangerous with the bottle-less kids), and seeing that i could not speak of recycling and using resources that surrounded us, and empty the bottles to the ground, i walked around the area, demonstrating how you watered trees. We watered the trees in haret hreik.

A few hours into the mayham, i found a few of the more difficult guys gathered in a corner, lying on their stomachs, or crouched on their knees, scribbling on pieces of paper and looking at each other's frantically as if they were in some competition. I worry about competitions, and so jogged over.. where were their bottles anyway?

I inquired to the bottles and they pointed to them by tossing their chins towards them or shouting over their shoulders and returned to their scribbling. They had , quite naturally, made bombs and rockets. Some of the water botles were in pieces. THe rockets were in shards once they landed you see. They could even tell you where each of the rockets had landed. But their sentences came in short bursts, or ended abruptly midway.. you were a nuisance. what in god's name where they doing..

i walked up closer trying to read over their shoulders.. i was impressed they could write.. the pages they leaned over were drenched in words. I just couldn't manage to read them. and then when i could, i still couldn't understand.. what was this?
then i came across one word, ' el bawarej..' and it dawned on me..
they were writing bits and pieces of Nasrallah's speeches, racing over who could remember the larger chunks.

Shocked at first, i calmed myself with the memory of the kid on the plane who sang nancy 3agram songs between intervals of 'twinkle twinkle little starts' and 'fre're-o jack-o' on the plane. If they could remember the song, why would they not remember the speeches their lives depended on?

-------------------------------------------------------------- X ------------------------------------------------------------------

'Alia..'
she asked, her friend standing next to her watching me closely, both of them looking very suspicious..
'aywaaa..' i answered feigning skepticism and curiosity myself at the drawl with which my name was pronounced..
'Betsumey ya Alia..?'
I smiled. Definitely more cunning than Lebanon had me used to. 'Aywa basume' i said after much thought.
I asked them if it made a difference to our friendship. They stayed quiet and could not answer. I talked for a while of something i knew would make no difference , was not in place, and that i probably knew very little of anyway, so i just trailed off, and got busy tying a knot for someone. They skipped off.

'Aliaa...'
THey were back. This time giggling and pinching each other, pushing each other to ask the question.
'Beteftarey 3ala adhan sunney wala adhan shee3ey..'
not so smart. all they had to do was wait. The shi3ey and sunney adhan were fifteen minutes apart.. in a restaurant, a playground or on the street, i was taught you could tell them apart that way. i responded, and the shock on their faces was indescribable.
A few stories by one of the girls gave away the strength of their political orientations and loyalties at home; and thus quite obviously, which adhan they ate to. The area we were in easily dictated the question of whether or not fasting availed here.
The thing that came to my mind on reading the shock on their faces was that they looked as a man who i would have tricked as to my religion or marriage status would have seemed. That is what IMMEDIATELY came to my mind. The giggles suddenly stopped, one girls gasped so quickly and spontaneously she almost choked on it. They looked at each other, tried to regain their composure, mumbled something inaudible and tripped as they walked away. Would it affect our friendship; i wanted to ask again..
but the answer was clear. And for a second i felt as uncomfortable as i would have felt had i been a child and told i could not play because i was Egyptian.
What it is about the way they did it that pronounced such final rejection i do not know...perhaps it was the uncertainty, no , the sort of 'obligation' with which they did it..
it was not that they didn't want to be friends with me, it was the realization that they 'couldn't' be. True, we later overcame it, and things were fine when we played (they were after all 9 and 10), but still there was that moment of realization, almost revealing a kind of treachery they could not reconcile themselves to.. or a million questions and phrases that repeated themselves in their minds, so that such YOUNG faces were immediately creased with concerns, and a burden, i would not have imagined possible at that age. and the contrast of such a concern or burden to the giggles that preluded them was profound.

It's a different experience for us altogether. H, who was lebanese later told me.
When the kids found out Mark 'doesn't fast', and told him he couldn't play, when they teased him, and even though it was short-lived, it echoed and rippled alot deeper with all of us. Everything they said and did brought back painful memories for all of us.. we all had some of these experiences when we were young.. and we lost so much more than a game or two on account of it.
When they teased him, it put us all at great unease, but more importantly it hurt like hell..
it wasn't that they were kids and we were adults, it was that we were catapulted into the world of insecurity, distrust, fear, bombs, separation , we had hoped to have climbed out of. All our childhood fears and experiences threatened to return.
it's a constant reminder of how fragile the situation is... of how much work there is to be done.
it's very different for us ya Alia.. it's not just about working with kids..

-------------------------------------------X-------------------------------------------------

This time we made worry dolls. In Guatemala it is said that, the Mayans believe that if you tell a worry doll ur worries, and place it under ur pillow the worry people come at night and take them away. The day before, we gathered 'round, i told the story, and explained how we would make the dolls using match-sticks.
'You talk to dolls?' One girl asked me with an expression of exaggerated skepticism and disbelief..
'yup' i admitted -- looks were exchanged , eye-balls rolled, lips curled, and laps slapped as some boys cracked up.
'Do you pray to the dolls?!' one little wrapped girl asked -- her expression was less skeptical and more hopeful - more like - 'please don't tell me we can't work together..'
'No , i talk, i don't' pray..'
i tried in a futile attempt to explain how sometimes talking about a problem makes it go away in here -- gesturing towards my chest, where problems at times, pile up.
On the other hand, i pulled out my trusty worry note book, where my little worry dolls were pasted.. i explained you could also 'write' ur worries.. There was less skepticism, more interest at the prospect of writing the worries -- good,i thought.. maybe i'll still have some of them tom.
Still however, there were no signs of appreciation towards my worry dolls.

The next day, almost all of them showed up; more notably, was a significant level of excitement towards the making of the dolls.
Perhaps it seemed fun.
As tedious as the whole process was however (imagine breaking matchsticks into arms and leggs, wrapping them in thread and yarn to make clothes, and cutting pieces of cloth to clothe them) a strange silence reigned over the playground as the kids were immersed in a (short lived) deep concentration as they perfected their worry dolls. The experience was very similar with the notorious all boy cast (so named 'kata2eb el 3azab) that i worked with the next week.

Jad, ( a five year old) was even making several worry dolls and hiding them - at the end of the day we found he had glued them to a piece of paper and then many others producing a replica of my notebook.. not only on his own, but in secret. He would write his bedtime stories for the worry dolls to come to life to.

We did not only have worry dolls; the Guatemalan ones had painted sand on their matchstick heads as hair. We had long blond haired ones, long black braided locks on others; we had a king with a crown, a clown, some wore scarves, others waistcoats, some held umbrellas, and some held truce flags.. the creativity with such tiny structures was incredible..
Then was time to pack and leave..

The questions.
How do you speak to them.. what time exactly .. was their a way you asked for things.. would they not break under the pillow? was it a pinnochio sort of phenomena? Do they need to be warm in the winter; can i name them?

And then she came through. Older than most of the others, Hajjar always seemed a little shy at showing too much excitement at what she should have outgrown.
Tightly wrapped, Hajjar approached amongst the crowd.. the crowd needed knots, more glue the scissors, a name, an answer...
she stood in the middle of all of them and asked a question in her normal tone of voice.. not bothering to raise it over the din. Particularly interested in what she had to say, and fearing she might change her mind, i reached for her hand, and tried to pull her closely.. she resisted, and kept asking the same question over and over.. head tilted slightly downwards, eyes looking up, and speaking softly.
At this i tried to come closer myself..
'Beyen7alu..?'
(Are they solved)
She looked up at me which such concentration keda.. i can't say 3asham, because it was just too intense a look, as if she not only wanted to hear the answer, bas see it in my face. She squinted, her look challenging, shy, and yet there was something almost desperate about it.
But what was i to say..
There was little scope to explain anything in such a din, and i had already learnt better than to sugar cream or magic wand anything..
I once again brought my hand to my upper chest and gestured there..
'Beyzulu...'..
The gestures i made as if to say that the vanished in here.. where the burden accumulates the most..
She nodded the disappointment clear and unmistakable. She attempted a meek smile at me, but could not even keep it for as long as it took her to turn her head and walk away, her neck craned, shoulders slumped, and her face clad with a disappointment i would have never wished to have seen; nor brought about.

Gaana El Eid...

2006-10-25T00:37:00.000+01:00

I seem to forever have memories of ayam el eid, or at least awel yom el eid, being as sunny as it was today. Sunny, with fluffy white clouds, an unarguably bright day - as if the day is a product of collective whims and expectations. It carries the promise, or perhaps the fulfillment of a promise, that no matter what, el eid eid..

You wake up; Ramadan's just packed and left, taking most of the golden sticky, and the next morning with all that is ka7k and crumbly, gaanna el eid e we ganna el eid..
With it, the bright mornings, the masses of prim and crisply dressed children, the carefully combed hair, and the general bahga.
Perhaps it is the bahga of a holiday, or one of days of preparations , buying 'new' clothes, 'new' shoes.. even those that suffer to make ends meet, seem to insist on making something meet somewhere.. something must be new.

And so today was bright.. breakfast with Nanna and cousins was cheery, lunch with the uncles and aunts, was bubbly..
'El eid 7elw ya lulu!' was how my aunt launched the day with her phone call. Much in line with her announcement, people were in a good mood, the air was light, and i continued to shout 'wenta(y) tayeb(ba)' at strangers all day long :)

Where is the phenomena? This one that changes the weather, lifts the mood, and makes people so kind?
It is no where but inside our heads and hearts; a collective decision that it is a special day, and is to be celebrated...

At night, i went to a wust el balad concert with friends. It is not their music that i enjoy as it is the atmosphere they create. The open air river hall at Sawi was as full as it ever could be. Or at least, that's what i told myself every other minute, and as the minutes progressed, people would pile up in the ares you would least expect to see them. Literaly over you and under you, beside you and all around you, and as far , high and low as your eye could see. People people people. And yes, there seemed to be the crispness of the new clothes. Or at least i wished to see it as such. The ripples of excitement were so powerful this time you could barely tell if they were rippling from the audience to the stage or vice verca.. everyone was jumping up and down and screaming at the top of their lungs, that if it wasn't exhilarating; it was actually alarming.

My favorite eid experience however, was when i found 'el welad'.
You know, the ones of 'aho geyh ya welad' and '2olu ma3aya 2olu... 2OLU', Yes, the 'heyyh heyyyh heyyyyyh' ones..
I very gleefully came across them.

I went for a stroll down el sayedda zeinab with amito, in search of maragee7 el eid. Or 'el eid' as my dad refers to them. For my parents the maragee7 more than anything represented the 'phenomena', so much so that for dad, this was ' el eid'; thus perhaps kanu beyru7u el eid, rather than wake up and 'find it' or 'not find it' as i have had experienced.

So yes, i went in search of more eids.
Through zawareeb we el zawa2ee2 we strolled, and it was as romantic as any nostalgic memory of Egypt could be..
the weather was slightly breezy; the music came loud and alive from some shops, and trickled through the unshankled sheeshs of the balconys of other houses...
the roads were uneven, wet, dark, and radiated a strange sense of security and warmth. The shops displayed a wide range of toys, all hanging off laundry ropes that stretched from one side of the kiosk to the other..
Eshey 3arayes, we eshey cars...20 years older than the last time these objects held my undivided attention and affection, i still yearned for the funny assortments with wide eyes, and itching palms.

And then they appeared..
The sound of wooden wheels stumbling over the uneven cement, and through the narrow alleys, echoed by the sound of giggles, shrieks, shouts and the collective colorful sounds of excited children. A rickety old cart, pulled by a donkey; it's driver sitting, one leg lifted so that it supported one elbow, and the other dangling from the cart. The cart was PACKED with kids. Packed. There were tens of them, on a space that could have possibly adequately been filled by ten kids. I have no idea how they fit on it, but you were at once struck by their multitude;

3eyal 3eyal 3eyal 3eyal 3eyal 3eyal 3eyal 3eyal 3eyal 3eyal 3eyal 3eyal 3eyal 3eyal 3eyal 3eyal 3eyal 3eyal 3eyal 3eyal 3eyal 3eyal 3eyal 3eyal 3eyal 3eyal 3eyal 3eyal 3eyal 3eyal 3eyal 3eyal 3eyal 3eyal 3eyal 3eyal 3eyal 3eyal 3eyal 3eyal 3eyal 3eyal 3eyal 3eyal 3eyal 3eyal 3eyal 3eyal..

It seemed as if they were piled untop of each other, and miraculously bound together so that they remained ON the cart (rather than under it) by some invisible rope.The driver whipped the donkey rhythmically with his reigns; a kind plump face framed with a dark heavy beard, that seemed to encompass his head fully; clad in a brownish galabeyya.

With every little whip he would shout over the tiny shrieks with;
'2OLU 'HEYYYYYYYYYYY''
and the children would instantly (attempts at simultaneity) shreik 'HEYYYYYYYYYYHHHHH'

the fact that they didn't all hear him at the same time, made some heyyh's longer than others, but all shrieked with equal excitement and tickled pleasure; a chaotic, frantic, colorful expression of glee; HEYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYH!

And so the rickety thing trudged through the alleys and puddles, the driver quite neutrally pulling it through with the periodic '2olu heyyh'
and the children all over each other, the cart and the place, mouths wide open (missing the occasional tooth), hands full with coloful objects, in colorful little dresses and shiny black 2ossas,and properly dressed hair we bey2olu 'heyyyyyyyh'..

An image i am unlikely to let fade anytime soon. We adi el eid :) Huwwa gey shwaya wana ro7tellu shwaya.
All came to life as even Hambolla downtown, we drinkies in Zamalek are back in action with their array of trickily drinks back in their vatrinas, and empty cartons piled untop of each other indicating a busy day after some hibernation..
The adjacent toy stores seem to enjoy an equal burst of action as they are frequented by the young and toothless which as much fervor and perhaps even more purchase power.

Doors open with smiling faces, people are uncharacteristically patient, the day is alive, the weather is warm, the food was plentiful (perhaps even a little more), and very tasty, the ka7k abundant, the swings in full action and the festivities running..

You will tell me i romanticize.
I will tell you, Akh..
i am home.

Eid Saeed..

رحنا وجينا

2006-10-07T02:13:00.000+01:00

ســالمة يا سلامة

كلمات بديع خيرى ; ألحان سيد درويش

ســــالمة يا ســـلامة رحنا وجينا بالسلامة
صفر يا وابور واربط عندك نزلنــــى فى البــــــلد دى
بلا أمـــــيركا بلا أوربـــــــا مافى شئ أحسن من بلدى
دى المركب اللى بتجيــــــب احســن من اللى بتــــودى

يا اسطى بشندى

سـالمة يا سلامة

سـلطة ما سلطة كله مكسب حوشــــنا مــال وجيــــــنا
شفنا الحرب وشفتا الضرب وشــــفنا الديناميت بعنــينا
ربك واحـــد عمرك واحــد ادى احنا رحـــنا وجيــــنا

ايه خس عليــنا
سالمة يا سلامة

صلاة النيى ع الشخص منا فرصـــة ميه بلا قافيــــــة
اللى ف جـــيبه يفنجــــر به والبركة فى العين والعافية
ح تـــاخد ايه م الدنيــا غيـر الستر يا شيخ خليها ماشـية

دنيـــا فانيــــــة
سالمة يا سلامة

دى الغربـــــــة ياما بتــــــــــورى بتخــــــلى الصــــنايعى بيـــرطن
مطـــــرح ما يـــروح المصــــرى برضــه طـــول عمــره ذو تفنــن
وحيـــــــاة ربنـــــــــا المعبـــــــود وى آر فرى جود ياسطى محمود

قــدها وقــدود
سالمة ياسلامة

On Classism..

2006-09-01T00:40:00.000+01:00

El 3Ashera masaa2an episode of tonight, was really enjoyable and highly recommended!
Mesh 3arfa law beyet3ad bokra, bas i would generally recommend it awey..

Otherwise maybe we can get Heba Raouf and Samer Soliman and i'm not sure how Abdel Wahab el MEssiri's health is doing - bas maybe we can get them for a salon on classism in Egypt and how it is affecting a movement for change. Not only how it's affecting the movement negatively, bas how existing social structures can boost or contribute positively.

The topic covered was el tabaqeyya (ma bada leey ya3ni) and they featured Abdelwahab el Messiri, Dr Heba Raouf (assistant Pol Sci proffessor at gam3et el qaherra), Dr Samer Soliman (of the New left- prof at auc and Author of النظام القوي والدولة الضعيفة) and AbdelBasset Abdel Mo3tey (whomi think it s political economist or political sociologist i'm not sure bas is author of ( م(الطبقات الإجتماعية ومستقبل مصر -- دار ميريت

They talked about a number of interesting issues, bas off the top of my mind keda and just to tempt you to watch the program;

Dissappearing Middle Class

THey were discussing how the middle class has not disappeared as is usually indicated or assessed, but it has more like 'exploded' or become very stratified. So that the gap pertains withIN the middle class itself, and the rising gini coefficient is not just an upper-lower class one.

That 'class' was supposed to be determined upon a social-economic basis , but that now it is mainly a social determinant. According to Heba Raouf; the way the society has been socially engineered is such that 'i consume; thereby i exist; i cannot afford to consume and thereby i do not afford to exist'. She was saying that social class is no longer determined by your income kaman, bas also by where you live, where you go to school, where you work. It is both determined AND determines those factors.
That we are now becoming what are referred to 'gated communities'

She also said it's almost like we were one huge continent (teh way teh world was zaman) and are now slowly drifting apart as different distant islands, not connected to each other at all.

What class do the police belong to for instance? El geysh?
It's a complex social map and and that your social status 'upper or lower' depends on who sees who in their rear view mirror. ( i particularly liked this)

Abdel Basset Abdel Meguid and Samer Soliman, talked about how the middle class has become al tabaqa al mu7bata aw el tabaqa al mahzuma, constantly in fear of falling into what lies beneath them, and constantly intimidated by what lays above them; what they spend their lives working towards and fearing at the very same time.

Social Class in Social Movements.

They then talked a little about the middle class and why it doesn't move or mobilize for change. What's stopping them.
here they talked about lack of a national project, or the labor and communist movements in the 40's and the student movements then and thereafter.

They talked about citizenship and el entema2 and the huge effect the social class structure was having on both belonging and the sense of agency.

Dr Heba was also saying how you need a strong level of consciousness amongst classes after which this consciousness must be transformed to action, and how we are finding it difficult to achieve the first level on both political and social basis.
Abdel Maguid and Soliman added how this is on account of the lack of effective political parties and how it is their role to transform consciousness to action, and the way i perceived it , also their role to encourage hegemonic formations that was severely lacking.

Abdel Maguid also talked about the lack of resistance displayed by the middle class - and when attacked with their helplessness presumed and presented what seemed to be models of passive resistance that the classes can adapt.

Overall ya3ni, the way they tried to trace the social engineering, social structuring and the general warped social map we live in and it's affect on all the 'nodes' in its network/web, from a cultural/socail/economic and political standpoint, was just very interesting to watch/engage in.

At the very end , Abdelwahab El Messeiri closed with a few words about Egyptians, and the nature of Egyptians and how he 'knows' they will pull through and change prevailing consciences and conciousness regardless of the engineered structures they are stuck in.
it was a very Messiri thing to say in a very messiri way. And although everything talked about was structured, and hard-core keda and thrashing and almost angry, something about his softness and conviction keda was very reassuring. ( i know i could get stoned for this one!)

______________________________________________________________________________

That was a very quick preview keda, bas complimenting this; one of the most interesting findings in my research this summer was that what seemed (to me) to be the core problem in the class issue, particularly in pertaining to the movements, was not really the gap bas the lack of communication between the classes. Although no one centralized it; the issue came up in most of my interviews.

A proffessor was talking masalan about how there used to always be a poor far3 and a rich far3 in every family and how rare that is now, or at least how rare the regular interaction that is ; another was telling me how he was friends with the driver's and house keepers children, and how that helped encourage him in the movement in the 70s; and truly understand the issues he was calling for.

An activist was talking about the events of the 25th of May , (the harassment) and how the fact that both parties (the wataney perpetrators and the girls in the movement) had never really communicated or made any kind of contact before.. and how that can make it very easy for any outsider to spark blind anger and aggression between them. They can easily believe anything anyone tells them about 'these girls' because they are so mo7arameen or so far away from them. (it almost sounds like the colonial woman- occupied man issue now that i mentioned it)

What's interesting kaman is the role that art and culture played in this sort of communication in the 40's and the 70's... there were songs and poetry that communicated the movement and its issues and pulled people together. Emails and Sms's mobilize much less than they exclude, apparently. The idea of the above-mentioned techniques, was they were communication techniques that involved and engaged the illeterate kaman. ranging from songs ('takhleed zekra al moqawma wal monadelun') which contributed greatly to collective memory and a genearl feel and drive for the issue; to plays, and Negm's poetry kaman...
Also ba7ess in teh revival of the cultural scene right now, there is alot that brings people together - finally something that is all of ours; something that purchase power can't be a deterimental factor in.
(And here i'm only discussing the effect of art and culture on 'communicating' and unifying; bas it's also SUCH an infinately effective development tool; not to 'develop' people or help them fish, bas just its power in enableing people to realize what it is they can do and how best to do it given culture , values etc - it's really strong..(check arjun appadurai on 'cultural aspiration maps))

Akher qessa 'interesting' wallahi we 7a2afel :)
In the 40's a narrative of a student activist was that after being arrested after mozahra's they received genuine help and sympathy from drs and jailers, bas very little of it from the guards that broke the protests.
One medical student in a protest in the late 30's was saying 'el ragel kan nazel feyya darb bey2uli 'ba2a enta kolaha sanateyn we teb2a daktor - we anna mesh ader 2adakhal weladi ebteda2i??!') and that it was something he never forgot.

In the 70s however an activist was talking about how the most beautiful and secure thing was 'masr kolaha kanet ma3ana' so you have romantic stories of crying zobaat, weeping officials, or relenting ones, from many different fronts. How the lower classes seemed empowered by the revolution so that there was so much bitterness; and there was so much more scope for unity.
Another interesting thing an activist - now professor was saying was how in the 60s/70s you could not really tell much about someone from their clothes; except for their taste, now you can tell almost everything from her car to where he/she lives to what their dad does...

This is not to underestimate the stregnth of the national projects of independance and the revolution and it's values that must have been hegemonic in and of themselves at teh time; and the lack of a common unifying goal at the moment...
bas bardo there is so little we know about each other :)
And for that 'realization' alone; i think a great number of us will always be indebted to fat'het kheir :)

Once again, i am infamously not getting at anything but throwing random thoughts at you :)
This is little opinion and analysis and much recollection we bas..

Where hearts can heal and souls can mend...

2006-08-28T15:19:00.000+01:00

"...In a murderous time

the heart breaks and breaks,

and lives by breaking.

It is necessary to go through dark and deeper dark
and not to turn.

I am looking for the trail..."

Stanley Kunitz - The Testing Tree

...but not forgotten

2006-08-27T11:21:00.000+01:00

Having to follow up closely with lebanon seemed to imply turning the pages over Iraq, and Palestine really quickly..
As if you can only handle one page at a time.
And maybe that's true. How much can a human heart or mind handle at once.
Sometimes i read the blogs or pieces of news and nodd slowly closing and opening my eyes emphetically; as if to say 'yes i know... i know this one..' becuase i have heard/read it so many times before. Sometimes it's difficult to remember the context, you scroll back to the top or flip the page to check with region you're reading again, and sometimes it doesn't really matter.

Helpless? la2, that's not what i'm feeling at all.
I personally felt a very positive movement towards lebanon on all our parts and also towards the political and not so political (but invaded by corrupted politics) events here in Egypt. Bas what triggers us everytime? Is it the pictures on the news? What if they just stop coming through? What if we get less inspiring emails by foreign MP speeches, or people in Lebanon who are able to send out their messages creatively? Not that we shouldn't make the best of such media, bas how do we keep ourselves stimulated to act, continuously...?

There are a few things in Riverbend's (Iraqi girl's blog below) that echoed very familiarly;

"I sometimes wonder if we’ll ever know just how many hundreds of thousands of Iraqis left the country this bleak summer. I wonder how many of them will actually return. Where will they go? What will they do with themselves? Is it time to follow? Is it time to wash our hands of the country and try to find a stable life somewhere else?"

When does it feel right to stay behind and fight for it, and when does it feel necessary to find a 'stable life somehwere else' or at least one you can relate to... how many of us have asked ourselves that question :)

Another one was;
"I woke up this morning to scenes of carnage and destruction on the television and for the briefest of moments, I thought it was footage of Iraq. It took me a few seconds to realize it was actually Qana in Lebanon."

This was on the irony of how difficult it is to tell what's happening where anymore. it seems to be happening everywhere.

And finally;

"No matter the loss of hundreds of innocent lives. No matter the children who died last night- they’re only Arabs, after all, right?
Right?"

I just watched Hotel Rwanda the other day and remembered how the UN forces were telling Paul, (Rwandan hotel owner) that the rescue they were all anticipating, was NOT coming.. why? Because you're african, and nobody cares about Africa.. This is not on a low note, khales, Quite the contrary.

The other day Heikal was talking to a Lebanese host on a program, reflecting on the events in the region, and lebanon in particular. And he was talking about observing change, or the events to note; and he said our problem is we see the '3awasef' (the Storms) very clearly, bas we never really notice the debris or particles that surround it or come with it..

I couldn't remember the exact phrase, bas the sense i got from it, was that it was not only the storms, the very big events, or very big changes that we should anticipate or account for, bas all that surrounds them; precedes them; preludes them in the air..

There is such a strong air of resistance that comes from lebanon, and i don't speak of Nasrallah,bas the youth and the artists and the general collective and individual movements that have risen up. THe same is to be said for Eygpt, even if the politically oriented movements seem to struggle, there is such hope in the cultural resurgence (or insurgance), the growing social responsibility, and the growing political movement. It's as if there is a growing sense of ownership, and a general sense of;
'if i cannot find that which i'm looking for; i build it..'
A surge of conscience and consciousness keda.

It's happening very slowly and the efforts may at times seem scattered, bas alot of networking and clustering and bonding is happening, alot is being written and alot is being built and alot is being DONE.. there is a movement. Even Egyptians abroad are generating energy and sending it back in.

And it's not only limited to Egypt.
I've a sense, (and i may not be able to back it up entirely empirically), bas whole socio-cultural-political centre of gravity seems to be shifting.. and whilst things 'are happening to us', and we are reacting to them, everytime we react we build, even if it is only a foundation we build, or solidarity, or more scope for stronger action, or production, bas we're really building.

Like a sort of system or systems, or a whole new life system is building up in parallel to that which we shun or are forced to live in. And i don't want to limit it to 'the government' or the political system, because it's not only that. El Share3, wel turath, wel tareekh, wel ard kolaha lenna.

We're retrieving it, getting it back one by one. It's happening very slowly, bas as we create our own grounds, our own havens where we do things as they should be done, see the things that we would like to see, and live in the world as we would have loved to find it; we are retrieving it.

Riverbend's blog;
http://riverbendblog.blogspot.com/

On little revolutions

2006-08-14T14:17:00.000+01:00

Revolution and youth are closely allied. What can a revolution promise to adults? To some it brings disgrace, to others favour. But even that favour is questionable, for it affects only the worse half of life, and in addition to advantages it also entails uncertainty, exhausting activity and upheaval of settled habits.

Youth is substantially better off: it is not burdened by guilt, and the revolution can accept young people in to. The uncertainty of revolutionary times is an advantage for youth, because it is the world of the fathers that is challenged. How exciting is the entry into the age of maturity over the shattered ramparts of the adult world!"

Milan Kundera, "Life is Elsewhere".

"The future is up in the air, better get on board!"
A worker on why he joined the protests leading up to the Iranian revolution in 1979.

"Once the train of change has left the platform , there realy is no turning back!"
Egyptian activist on why he joined the current movement.

"The youth...the students; they might not be capable of bringing about the change they demand.. but they can bring the issues to the surface. They face the world with them, and push it to deal with them"
Egyptian Student activist from the 60s

"I walked into university; and everywhere, all around me were the wall magazines (megalat 7a2et).They were on the walls, so that there was no space, and as i walked further in, i suddenly realized they were all over the floor too. Everywhere. Words of poetry, of holy scripts, of movement , glories, acheivements, anger, demands.. and soon in the courtyars i came to a point where ropes were stretched across from one end to the another, and the magazines hung across the pegs, swaying before us.. arguing with each other, complimenting each other; bringing us all together. The world was right there. It was happening all around me. I had stepped into the world!"
Egyptian student activist in the 70s, at that point completely de-politicized; at this point leader of a political party.

Most studies on social movements indicate that it takes some kind of contention, some kind of unrest, to spark even the youth or students into the movements.
In Egypt, particularly in the 70s and the late 40s; it seemed more like 'hope'..

It goes on..

2006-08-07T11:56:00.000+01:00

In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life — It goes on.
Robert Frost

I have always LOVED Robert Frost. His were the first poems I made an effort to learn by heart. I loved to reproduce them, in my mind, out loud, to friends, through play, living them through, or even to a mirror.

He seemed to also see ,that life; was all about metaphors.
He saw nature, the woods, the roads; travelled and less travelled by, loveliness; dark and deep, loneliness, promises to keep; they all meant something else, something more. But he communicated it all, all the deeper meanings, through everything that every eye could easily see.

And life IS all about metaphors. Physical pain for example; I think is something we experience , only to teach us to deal with the real, deep, scorching, internal and not so physical pain. We fall countless times when young, and we scrape our knees or maybe need a few stitches, but we watch and we see, everytime we painfully pull away the band-aid, that no matter how red, purple, green, the ta3weera gets; in time, sometimes long and sometimes short, they are nothing. And except for a scar; we heal.
And the scars…even those are reminders, that what was once painful no longer is.

During my time (splendidly confusing and should enriching years) with Fat'het kheyr, we would sit for hours with our 'loan groups' doing 'our part' to help, when in fact the lessons of humility and life, are ones that will never match up to anything we have given. We would listen to their stories, try to think of how we can work something out together, but at least a third of the time, feel powerfully helpless, slumped and at loss. In my own experience; they were those times that the women would ironically perk up, pat me on the back, wipe away their tears and say something like ' ya bent ya 3abeeta kolo bey3ady…'

Once at a particularly critical 'husband has prostate cancer' , ' no money for eid food' , 'son needs a shoe', 'daughter is seriously ill', time, awhen I could barely hide my distraught, Om Samar laughed and said..
'Mesh el shams 7atetla3 bokra?'
Slapping one hand over the other (though softly) on her lap, bending over with her head tilted towards me, and her face looked away from me, eyes wide, lips pursed, in a very small 'prelude to a wise smile' smile. Her face however, was already beginning to open up into one.
'aah'. I affirmed, my head tilted downwards - still at loss- and not knowing where this was going. Seeing little hope of going anywhere.
'khalas. Yeb2a yom gedid 7ayebtedy. 7a3mel eyh. We kol yom 7ayeb2a fee mashakel, we kol yom 7annam 3aleyha.
neegy el sob7… BARDO nela2ey el shams betetla3… Talama kol leyl beyekhlas, we ba3deeh, kol nehar yebetedy, yeb2a kol 7aga 7atekhlas, we kol 7aga 7atebtedy men gedid.. we aho, kol yom beforas Tanya…'

There was nothing cliché about Om Samar's little monologue. It wasn't a famous saying of hers, or part of her trademark optimism. I think it was something she learnt with time.

I don't know what exactly she meant, but a world of meaning revealed itself to me.
Not that every day brought a new chance. But that everyday was new. And every day was a metaphor. Because as 'lovely dark and deep' each night is, however sad, however content, the sun shines loud and bright every morning, making you squint, and shield your face from it, but also making you realize, the sometimes wonderful, the sometimes very harsh reality, that another day has come, and that life beckons you to pull it through.

And so the sun, in all it's yellowness and brightness, pulls us, pushes us, forces us if you will, to move. Mover for shelter, mover for food, mover for shade; just move.

Everything is alive. Everything seems wise, and so everything does indeed send beautiful messages. I have a powerful deep faith in God, and nothing rings closer , truer or warmer in my heart. But whether it is God that people believe in, or the life that throbs around them, everything is alive.
The wind does whisper, Leaves do wave at you, trees are good listeners, waves are playful, and mountains doo carry millions and ages of stories and wisdoms.. they do watch, they do listen, they do witness and they do preserve the wisdom of the ages.

If you are true to yourself to the world, and perhaps to God, then you cannot but feel it. You cannot but hear them. It is just sometimes that we choose not to.
Memories, thoughts, ideas; pain and joy do linger in the atmosphere around us. Every place has it's own feel, it's own memories. And once again if you let yourself go completely you can feel them. You can feel the tension, you can feel the trueness and purity, you can feel the pain.
I have felt them in the deserts of the oasis and the mountains of Sinai, in Gibran's house in the mountains, in the south of Lebanon, and the heart of Berlin . In the depths of the citadel's prisons, and on the banks of the rivers in Florence. But I am not special in that sense. And I'm sure everyone feels things differently…but we do feel it.

Given that; everything is alive and that we are surrounded by the energy of all that has happened before us, and all that has been thought and lived, so that even place breathes with life, then how can we not believe in signs.
They come in little events, and gestures, and whisps and drops; but they come. They carress, and they whisper and they touch; and sometimes they scratch; often deeply too. But they speak to us, in a language we have not been accustomed to use.

'It goes on'.

As silly as it felt when I first read it, and as little as I could grasp the wisdom, it was short, and it was witty, and I loved Robert Frost.

But life as you come to realize; idoes go on. And when your heart refuses to stop at the times when the pain makes it seem only natural that it should, and when your eyes continue to flutter open at the first chirp of the first ray, and when a word, a letter, a song, touches, inspires, caresses or enlightens you. When the world seems to fall apart around you , and you have little power to stop it, when your voice is not loud enough for you to dictate the way things should./could be. That's when you realize that as cruel as it might be, as a blessing; it continues. And what doesn't kill you? Yes; it makes you stronger. And until you are stronger you just live. And as long as you are 'living' it is only up to you and up to you only how you decide to live it.

And all those clichés and all those silly quotes and every day sayings; about life going on, about what doesn't kill you, about the sun coming up again?
Hold on to them tightly. Because at the times when things are loveliest, loneliest, darkest and deepest; it is their soft familiar ring; and only theirs, that pulls you through.

It goes on, and on, and on. Life's toughest lessons, seem to be its simplest. But no good lessons ever come easy.

And that;
is my take on,
and my peace with,
the world,
for today. :)

On Zigzags and Surprises

2006-08-03T21:29:00.000+01:00

The Optimism of Uncertainty by Howard Zinn
From an excerpt of Paul Rogat Loeb's book "The Impossible Will Takea Little While"

In this awful world where the efforts of caring people often pale in comparison to what is done by those who have power, how do I manageto stay involved and seemingly happy? I am totally confident notthat the world will get better, but that we should not give up thegame before all the cards have been played. The metaphor is deliberate; life is a gamble. Not to play is to foreclose anychance of winning.

To play, to act, is to create at least a possibility of changing theworld. There is a tendency to think that what we see in the present moment will continue. We forget how often we have been astonishedby the sudden crumbling of institutions, by extraordinary changesin people's thoughts, by unexpected eruptions of rebellion againsttyrannies, by the quick collapse of systems of power that seemed invincible. What leaps out from the history of the past hundredyears is its utter unpredictability. This confounds us, because weare talking about exactly the period when human beings became soingenious technologically that they could plan and predict the exact time of someone landing on the moon, or walk down the streettalking to someone halfway around the earth.

Let's go back a hundred years. A revolution to overthrow the tsar ofRussia, in that most sluggish of semi-feudal empires, not only startled the most advanced imperial powers, but took Lenin himselfby surprise and sent him rushing by train to Petrograd. Given theRussian Revolution, who could have predicted Stalin's deformationof it, or Khrushchev's astounding exposure of Stalin, or Gorbachev's succession of surprises? Who would have predicted thebizarre shifts of World War II-the Nazi-Soviet pact (thoseembarrassing photos of von Ribbentrop and Molotov shaking hands),and the German army rolling through Russia, apparently invincible, causing colossal casualties, being turned back at the gates ofLeningrad, on the western edge of Moscow, in the streets ofStalingrad, followed by the defeat of the German army, with Hitlerhuddled in his Berlin bunker, waiting to die?

And then the post-war world, taking a shape no one could have drawnin advance: The Chinese Communist revolution, which Stalin himselfhad given little chance. And then the break with the Soviet Union,the tumultuous and violent Cultural Revolution, and then another turnabout, with post-Mao China renouncing its most fervently heldideas and institutions, making overtures to the West, cuddling upto capitalist enterprise, perplexing everyone. No one foresaw thedisintegration of the old Western empires happening so quickly after the war, or the odd array of societies that would be createdin the newly independent nations, from the benign village socialismof Nyerere's Tanzania to the madness of Idi Amin's adjacent Uganda.

Spain became an astonishment. A million died in the civil war, which ended in victory for the Fascist Franco, backed by Hitler andMussolini. I recall a veteran of the Abraham Lincoln Brigadetelling me that he could not imagine Spanish Fascism beingoverthrown without another bloody war. But after Franco was gone, a parliamentary democracy came into being, open to Socialists,Communists, anarchists, everyone. In other places too, deeplyentrenched dictatorships seemed suddenly to disintegrate-inPortugal, Argentina, the Philippines, Iran.

The end of World War II left two superpowers with their respectivespheres of influence and control, vying for military and politicalpower. The United States and the Soviet Union soon each had enoughthermonuclear bombs to devastate the Earth several times over. The international scene was dominated by their rivalry, and it wassupposed that all affairs, in every nation, were affected by theirlooming presence. Yet the most striking fact about thesesuperpowers was that, despite their size, their wealth, their overwhelming accumulation of nuclear weapons, they were unable tocontrol events, even in those parts of the world considered to betheir respective spheres of influence. The failure of the SovietUnion to have its way in Afghanistan, its decision to withdraw after almost a decade of ugly intervention, was the most strikingevidence that even the possession of thermonuclear weapons does notguarantee domination over a determined population.

The United States has faced the same reality. It waged a full-scale war in lndochina, conducted the most brutal bombardment of a tinypeninsula in world history, and yet was forced to withdraw. InLatin America, after a long history of U.S. military interventionhaving its way again and again, this superpower, with all its wealth and weapons, found itself frustrated. It was unable toprevent a revolution in Cuba, and the Latin American dictatorshipsthat the United States supported from Chile to Argentina to ElSalvador have fallen. In the headlines every day we see other instances of the failure of the presumably powerful over thepresumably powerless, as in Brazil, where a grassroots movement ofworkers and the poor elected a new president pledged to fightdestructive corporate power.

Looking at this catalog of huge surprises, it's clear that thestruggle for justice should never be abandoned because of theapparent overwhelming power of those who have the guns and themoney and who seem invincible in their determination to hold on to it. That apparent power has, again and again, proved vulnerable tohuman qualities less measurable than bombs and dollars: moralfervor, determination, unity, organization, sacrifice, wit,ingenuity, courage, patience-whether by blacks in Alabama and South Africa, peasants in El Salvador, Nicaragua, and Vietnam, or workersand intellectuals in Poland, Hungary, and the Soviet Union itself.

No cold calculation of the balance of power need deter people whoare persuaded that their cause is just. I have tried hard to match my friends in their pessimism about the world (is it just myfriends?), but I keep encountering people who, in spite of all theevidence of terrible things happening everywhere, give me hope.Especially young people, in whom the future rests. Wherever I go, I find such people. And beyond the handful of activists there seem tobe hundreds, thousands more who are open to unorthodox ideas. Butthey tend not to know of each other's existence, and so, while theypersist, they do so with the desperate patience of Sisyphus endlessly pushing that boulder up the mountain.

I try to tell each group that it is not alone, and that the verypeople who are disheartened by the absence of a national movementare themselves proof of the potential for such a movement. It is this change in consciousness that encourages me. Granted, racialhatred and sex discrimination are still with us, war and violencestill poison our culture, we have a large underclass of poor,desperate people, and there is a hard core of the population content with the way things are, afraid of change. But if we seeonly that, we have lost historical perspective, and then it is asif we were born yesterday and we know only the depressing storiesin this morning's newspapers, this evening's television reports.

Consider the remarkable transformation, in just a few decades, inpeople's consciousness of racism, in the bold presence of womendemanding their rightful place, in a growing public awareness thatgays are not curiosities but sensate human beings, in the long-term growing skepticism about military intervention despite brief surgesof military madness. It is that long-term change that I think wemust see if we are not to lose hope. Pessimism becomes aself-fulfilling prophecy; it reproduces itself by crippling our willingness to act. Revolutionary change does not come as onecataclysmic moment (beware of such moments!) but as an endlesssuccession of surprises, moving zigzag toward a more decentsociety.

We don't have to engage in grand, heroic actions to participate in the process of change. Small acts, when multiplied by millions ofpeople, can transform the world. Even when we don't "win," there isfun and fulfillment in the fact that we have been involved, withother good people, in something worthwhile. We need hope. Anoptimist isn't necessarily a blithe, slightly sappy whistler in thedark of our time. To be hopeful in bad times is not just foolishlyromantic. It is based on the fact that human history is a history not only of cruelty, but also of compassion, sacrifice, courage,kindness. What we choose to emphasize in this complex history willdetermine our lives. If we see only the worst, it destroys ourcapacity to do something. If we remember those times and places-and there are so many-where people have behaved magnificently, thisgives us the energy to act, and at least the possibility of sendingthis spinning top of a world in a different direction. And if we doact, in however small a way, we don't have to wait for some grand utopian future. The future is an infinite succession of presents,and to live now as we think human beings should live, in defianceof all that is bad around us, is itself a marvelous victory.

Adapted from "The Impossible Will Take a Little While: A Citizen's Guide to Hope in a Time of Fear", edited by Paul Rogat Loeb.

Partsof this essay appeared in You Can't Be Neutral on a Moving Trainand Howard Zinn on History.

Published on Monday, November 8, 2004 by CommonDreams.org

On beauty; how deep?

2006-07-28T02:05:00.000+01:00

As i sit slumped in the tube, a 'poem of hte underground' catches my attention. i perk up, and;

Beauty is impelled to find a face to dwell in:
there, delight is such
that I seek nothing more;
I would scour the sky to share with the elect this living grace.
The works of their Creator bear his sign
So if my soul burns fiercely with love of all fair shapes,
then judgement from above Must hold me guiltless:
because beauty is divine.

La Forza d'un bel viso a che mi sprona.
Michelangelo

My heart sighs so deeply it almost breaks. But the beauty i see, or wish seen in me, would more realistically be;

A sweet disorder in the dress Kindles in clothes a wantonness:
A lawn about the shoulders thrown Into a fine distraction:
An erring lace, which here and there Enthralls the crimson stomacher:
A cuff neglectful, and thereby ribbands to flow confusedly:
A winning wave (deserving note)In the tempestuous petticoat:
A careless shoe-string, in whose tie I see a wild civility:
Do more bewitch me, than when art
Is too precise in every part.

Robert Herrick
Delight in Disorder.

If anything i did get however; it was this;

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

William Yeats.
He wishes for the cloths of Heaven.

And in elegant cursive it read;

To Alia; My favorite Student. Who trod softly and most delightfully.

On skies and 'why's

2006-07-28T00:55:00.001+01:00

The skies cry alot in london...
in the winter's it's understandable. it's cold. everything is bear. everything wilts and falls. even the wind fails to find the leaves to whisper to. to snicker to giggle with.
It races back to the skies in anger. Sharp rays of cold anger fed by dissappointment, fueled by hurt and disillusionment. Sending jabs of more pain, deep and cold , into the heart of the sky. and it pours.

In the sprng it stops for a while. It sits back whimpering at first as the world unravels below it, and then stops for a while as its breath catches in its throat.

the world blooms.

the leaves flourish and spread, embracing life in every form and color.
The flowers rise trumphantly, swaying back and forth to an invisble rythem; quiet to the naked eye, transparent to the ear alert.
visible only to the heart.

they sprinkle scents as they sway, so even the air is bright beautiful and sweet.

Sometimes the skies cry softly, perhaps touched by all that is beautiful below it. perhaps lonely for it.

Still however, its sadness returns and it cries, once again. often in loud burts, complete with sobs, hiccups and thunder too.

however, nature seems patient this time of year. it takes cover on the sadder days, and blooms and sways in the skies happy lapses.

People? They huff, they puff, and with a flick open their umbrellas to keep the sky's tears away. sometimes they just race through and pretend not to notice. it cries so often , anyway. they dont like sad tears. or maybe everyone can take only so much of their own sadness.

Only children seem to have the heart to look up and smile at the sky. even on its saddest days, they look up and they celebrate it. Children, and all those strong enough to have preserved their child-like hearts.

If only more people looked up at the sky , and asked: ' but why so sad....why?'

and even on ur bluest days, you are a deep beautiful blue, and ur rain pours through me refreshes me, cleanses me through and through.

دعاء ليلة القدر

2006-06-13T23:39:00.000+01:00

عدد 17 يونيو 1952

...حتى دعوة ليلة القدر إتغيرت

What else do we need...

2006-06-07T13:13:00.000+01:00

The death of a movement. The rise of another.

This is an interesting article in Al Adab magazine by Ahmed Bahaa el Din Shaa'ban on the youth movement in Egypt.

http://www.adabmag.com/topics/alchabab/ahmadBaha.pdf

And here are others on youth movements in Syria, Jordan and Morrocco.

http://www.adabmag.com/alchabab.htm

He talks about how it started in 46 as a student and labor movement and how it grew in influence and power through the 50's and till the 70's when efforts to repress the students' political activism started. 'El taleb taleb 3elm we bas..'. He describes how formal policies were actually enacted to de-politicize school curriculums, and student activities, so that even 'national' activities or events were transformed to ensure de-politicization. He highlights a particular incident in the transformation, where once revolutionaries and activists were hosted at universities (from Palestine, Africa and all around the world); religious figures replace them.

Shaaban seems to theorize that the de-politicization was replaced national political interests with religion and other forms and interpretations of nationalism and so; it unravelled. Also about the sort of mystification or 'fear' that was built around politics and the idea of political activism, that carried through and killed the movements until very recently. You watch a movie like el Karnak and you don't wonder why.

Although there are many aspects of his argument that are debatable, as he proceeds to describe the death of a movement and the rise of another; i am once again astonished at the extent to which education (not only curriculum but also, the university as development of ideology and not only technocratic, and university as site for movement and organization) and culture (culture as in the core values, and the medium and context through which it is disseminated) had such an affect on both fueling and quelling the movements..

It gives us so many clues and hints to what could or should be done.
In terms of education, it is quite clear. We don't need to inflitrate it with politics and socialist , communist and capitalist strategies masalan, bas at least the values of all these ideologies should be there for people to draw upon, or not. Also i think the youth and student movements are crucial to mention, because they did play a role in the shaping of our history and our nations, and because quite simply, they are the story of our our parents' struggles. And possibly grandparents before them.

And it isn't only education. I attended a Jaheen (bahaa' jaheen) singing and poetry reading night at Townhouse gallery around 3 years ago, and the energy and enthusiasm that stirred through the audience once he started singing 'EL share3 lenna', was ubelievable..
It was mainly the generations of the 60's and 70's, but even the younger and older generations, got up , so that barely anyone was sitting down. Fists raised in the air, and all the voices raised in unison, repeating the phrase over and over, until at times the melody was lost, and the fists and arms pumped in a way that was almost militant.
It's nothing we really need to 'create', just revive.. And we have all the tools to do it.

The strength of youth/students in the movements for change also date back to the the 1919 revolution, which seems to have been sparked from the faculty of law at cairo university. At the time, an established executive committee organized by the students to plan and organize activities in the different cities and provinces, apparently met at beyt el umma (Sa'ad Zaghloul's house) twice a week, until he helped it's leader, Hassan Yasin, win a seat in parliament as a wafd state candidate. Imagine that, a student representative in parliament.

Why does it amuse you and at once make all the sense in the world?
And why does it seem so unheard of, and so far-fetched right now. What gave the students in 1930's the power and ability to influence all the members of the political parites, el Nahas included to form a united front. And they called the 30's , the years of youth...?

What did the students have in the 30's that we don't. We who now are much more aware of our rights and abilities, and have not only our experiences but those of generations and generations that have preceeded us in our countries and in so many others to recount.
In my opinion; what they, the youth members of the South African congress, the students in Iran (that also mobilized de-politicized scholars and clergymen), and the students in El Salvador (that declared universities as the 'conscience of a nation') is a vision, or more like a dream they had of how the world should be, and the will and passion to call for it or pull it through.

I am not calling for us to head to the streets, and i'm not calling for 're-politicization' either. Just thinking out-loud, genuinely wondering. If there is latent energy there then let's revive it.

If there is one thing we all learnt in school, it's that energy is never lost or gained, it is only changed.

Now all we need is a beyt el ummah :)

Seething...fear

2006-06-01T14:57:00.000+01:00

Fear and courage.
Bravery and cowardice.
Loyalty and treachery.

All suddenly sides of the same coin, the same dice; all image and reflection.

It seems the vices battle not only in verbatim, but also in the hearts and minds of all who practice them.

Over 600 youth in prison. Who knows how many more.
A handful of who we hear regularly. They smuggle their letters out, they get their food, clothes, supplies smuggled in for them.
All those who love them working hard outside, to make them feel loved and warm inside.
How much warmth can you add to a cold cell though? How much familiarity? How much hope can you shine into it?

I imagine there are moments of darkness, or bleakness, when you know, or when you realize, when tomorrow, will be just as dark as today, if not even darker.
What if I finish all my thoughts? What if I have nothing to think of tomorrow?and if I hold out tomorrow; how about the day after, or the day after that? That's why prison writings hold so much intrigue, so much appeal. Because the situation is unlike anything anyone has experienced or can imagine. You always have the choice to choose how you want to sit, you can adjust the temperature you sit in, the amount of light you can expose yourself to, the level of noise, the degree of company.. all levels of adjustment. You can also very well control the extent to which your imagination is stimulated.

And then suddenly there is narrowness, and darkness and emptiness and sometimes even darkness. It is dirty and you cannot clean it, you will be hungry and cannot eat; hot and unable to find a breeze, cold with no blanket to cover you. Soar, aching, with no gentle hand to soothe you.

Suddenly , the choice is no longer yours.
It's just not your say anymore.
You wait,and you wait in fear.

Footsteps send a million different thoughts and fears scurrying through your imagination. Or maybe you just don't hear them anymore.

Prison always seems to be the other side. The other side of the world. The other side of freedom, of living, of happiness, but also, what we've been brought up to believe is the other side of being 'right'. Only bad people go to prison.

Highly unlikely any of us will be telling that to our children anymore.

Prison does not seem to be the place for bad guys anymore, needless to say, neither are cops any longer our salvation from the bad guys. Nor are presidents. Nor are leaders any source of inspiration.

A leader is now one who sets on the very top, and refuses to get off. Someone who sits and gives orders to those below him to make others miserable. Or does not even bother to. Someone who sits and top, and makes sure his shit makes the right 'trickle down effect' that wealth never seems to.

They are people that either practice their tyranny internally or externally.
Leaders are either people everyone hates, or people most people hate.
But a leader is sure to have someone to hate them.

And it's not the shallow kind of hate, that you have towards an ugly colour, a tacky restaurant, an unpleasant person; it is not even the kind of hate you have towards bad guys or spinach as a kid.
Leaders have developed a deep seething, bitter hate in people.

A hate that makes one ready to kill and loose everything for it.
A hate that wells from your inner most depths, a hate that is created off seeing your children starve to death, or feeling helpless to help your family prosper or offer your kids a better life. It's a hate that stems from insecurity; knowing they have made the word a worse place for you to live in. Knowing you have fear strongest, where you once had nothing to fear.

But the worst thing in the world is not the hate. It's the self-depreciating feeling that comes right before the hate. The helplessness. The pure shit.
Hearing Om Salah's fear that if Salah leaves the house and works in the market, he might be arrested by wandering police and be caught, have a pack of neela shoved down his pocket and taken to prison on account of it months on end. A fear that has her keep her now disturbed son with some sort of nervous disorder after spending months of horrific circumstances, for coming back home after work. Work that's BARELY keeping om salah, salah, ahmed and samia going.

Hearing Sheikh Moussa's bitter accounts of 'that country you call your own', and dare to imply I am part of. The state that marginalizes me, so that , not only does it claim no responsibility for me, but insinuates MY treachery. MINE. I who lives in the place that is his home, living by the traditions I was born to , ready to fight to protect myself, my family and my land at any point. I who's passion for the stretching land sands and mountains is infinitely loyal, and you who poison it and threaten to push me out of it on account of treason.

Mostapha of the Sarayya who we was presented to us as a typical case of paranoid schizophrenia. His situation is so bad off he no longer has any sense of time, the doctor tells us. His situation may be even worst than usual right now, because he has been drugged for some time. Mustapha, how long have you been here? Mustapha looks up at us in a slow wry smile.. "6 years, eleven months , 7 days and 16 hours.." The doctor smiles nervously and doesn't bother to correct him..
Question after question the doctor asks, patient after they patient; all of them staring straight ahead of them and answering the questions with as little expression, as little feeling as possible. Patient after patient as the doctor squirms in his seat and his students' scepticism grows and grows, perplexed at first, then pale, heart beat faster, lips partially open as the truth reveals itself to them. Ofcourse, the doctors files were just mixed up today.

Na'eema in Qanater prison, smiling and cheerful, adjusting her scarf on her head every now and then, her smile sweet , her face open, her eyes asking a million questions, and waiting patiently to alternate on of your questions with one of hers. She was in there with murder, with a wide smile. Her husband's cousin. Her husband was paralyzed and he tried to rape her daughter.. She had seen him try before.. what were you expecting, that I sit back and watch her scream? Straight on his head. He crumpled to the ground. Prison is wonderful. She has many friends. IT's the day she is released into her husband's family's wrath that she fears most. She is safer here.

And all those in the 50's and 60's and 70's that sat in their houses, bent over their chairs, weeping silently praying that they won't hear the knocks on their doors, that their loved ones would come back safely, or that it would just STOP hurting.

And all those that lay inside prisons, no longer counting the days, knowing that none will come for them.

We have lead a good and secure life, yet we fear for our lives terribly. We have locks on our doors, we have friends of friends of friends, in all the high and low places that cushion our falls. We know we will never be forgotten, that at least a group, if not nations, will be hot on our pursuit, if we fall, or disappear for a while. And yet we experience a fear. And it chills us. And our adrenaline pumps. And we shudder, shake the thought off, and try to think of a safer way around it.

And the man that stays up at night, praying his door won't be broken down one day, and he will helplessly watch his son be carried away, his own daughter hurt or raped, and his wife, his salvation and his source of warmth and comfort, violated if only by a touch.

All those people that are picked off the street when a 'retard' attacks a church, or when people are murdered mutilated and castrated in menya, or when almost a hundred people are blown to smitharines in Sharm.
it is enough, not it is CRIME that these atrocities go by unpunished, but to have the wrong people prosecuted is committing crime after crime after crime…

And then you blame people for trying to live?
You complain that there is theft and dirt and corruption and misery…
You complain the children don't go to school and walk around the street barefoot and that cab drivers charge ridiculously high rates. You complain that the men on the streets harass the women, that the women cover up inch over inch, until they can no longer breathe.

We have for the first times in our lives, experienced fear. If even at a fleeting thought of doing something that might involve us risking our lives.
And what of those who have, who LIVE their lives in it.
Who are helpless or powerless, who are victims before a single risk is taken.

Who scream 'la2 ya beyh!!' and start to weep like children, once they are grabbed by the lapel and as they receive their first slap.. not because it hurts, and not because their pride hurts, but because they have been expecting this moment for years, for lifetimes!

And it starts early on.. as children wait quietly at school for their turn to get a beating. If they can't read, because the letters don't' speak up to them as they do most people, or if they can't approve to pay the troll's tole. Resist. They were told in a workshop. Ask why. Tell them how it hurts you.
I can't spoke up a fifteen year old boy, before countless of others. I can't he stood up and said quickly, his voice shaking, choking as he tried to explain. The moment I am beaten , everything inside me starts to shake. Everything. And everything inside me is closed tight. Even if I am asked to speak, my mouth does not open, it is clenched close. And I know I have to sit down quickly. I have to sit down very quickly because if I don't, then everyone will see me urinate. Yes! It still happens to me! I can't resist!

We do have a lot to fear. We have a lot to fear because we have not felt fear before, and so we start at the very bottom of the ladder. And we experience it in it's rawest and simplest of senses. We have not had it for years and so the possibilities have not built themselves inside us. It starts very slowly and it builds with question mark after question mark, and yet it remains, always, constantly, JUST out of reach.

But what if when our fear disappears. When we experience all there is to fear, and we settle down. Or when we realize all the fearful consequences and manage to secure ourselves.
What of when a different leader takes over.
Someone new. Someone fancy, someone old, someone blue.

And if we can mute our fears enough so our children are not afraid. If we DO manage to protect them. What of all those that are powerless, that remain at the mercy of the known or the power'ful'. When will their fear erupt.
When will it implode.
And what,
If it explodes.

Leaving Soatica

2006-05-30T14:57:00.000+01:00

I smile, I hug, I nod emphatically, I feign the ecstasy and the relief. But my smile extends no further, no deeper than my lips' embrace.

I feel a strange sort of tiredness. My eyes are wide open, my senses alert, I'm quick on to console, to converse.
And yet something inside me slumps; tugging slowly and relentlessly at my attention.

What now?
I'm leaving soatica.

I studied at soas this year. And how feeble a word like studied can be.

the world has grown so much bigger and at times so much smaller, so scary and yet so promising, so dark and yet so blindingly and alarmingly light.
how else would it seem when your every sense , and every ounce of intellect is stimulated, challenged and consumed?

but now I finished. I was skating and I was soaring and I was gliding; and suddenly I stop. And the word stands before me, waiting for me to explore it myself.

I had left it at the door step as I hopped into the building, and sat listlessly at the SOAS bar, in an array of dim-lit color; surrounded by revolutionary fists, posters of Marx, dreadlocks, sweet smelling smoke, endless announcements and calls for rebels and revolutionaries, for all those who are armed for the plight 'to change'.
Listlessly waiting for the music that escapes the juke box and threads its way across the room, and across continents and decades to tickle me, to embrace me.

I left it at the door step as I hopped into my class room, and sat listening, hoping it would not end, or wishing it would so I would give my Brownian thoughts a chance to settle down, to stop bouncing off each other, and attempting to break through the limits of my mind.. For my brain to attempt to caress, caress, but never pacify them.

I left it at the door step as I raced to the library, to devour one book after the other, one article after another, shaking my head in wonder and disbelief as I grabbed a notebook in between and scribbled 'unbelievable ya alia!' as I scribbled myself some notes to remember. Where had I been as this happened through the world? How had I not known..

I came back to the door step and avoided the world; as I ran back home or went out to another world, one that was kinder but so much less real.

As I ran into comforting arms as I hated myself for failing me. why couldn't I seem to learn?
I left it at the door step as I walked out and around it... I would deal with it later, i'm only just starting to understand it.

London around soas, snowed on the brightest and shiniest days; you lifted ur face for a sun-kiss, and braced yourself as the snow flakes, tickled ur nose, caressed ur cheeks and wandered into ur unassuming ears.
London around SOAS bloomed in the most beautiful of scents and the brightest of colors in the spring, and the coldest and chilliest gusts of wind in the winter.

People in SOAS challenged the world. Colors do not match here. Hair meets the standards, colors, shades, textures of beauty as every spot on the world might see them. Skies come in colors. They also come in shapes, shades, layers, lengths and sizes.

Students fill the bottom of the steps, crowding the world I left behind, in protests at sit ins, when a librarian is threatened, when a fellow student mistreated, when a country is bombed.

the bulletin boards crowd with competing events. Every flier, poster, picture sprawls as widely as possible attempting to catch more of your attention than its neighbor, predecessor or child. Every event promising, challenging, angry, exciting, sad or exhilarating. And not an hour without one.

London in SOAS is Iran, Aceh, Rwanda, Afghanistan, Poland, Palestine, Germany, India, Tibet, Algeria, and Egypt, London in SOAS was home.

The library in SOAS overflows with riches from Faten 7amama, Empire, Marx, Gramsci, Fouccault, Toqueville, Sherine Ebadi, and so many many more..

A year now. How could so much have happened in a year?

When every concept, ideology, understanding is 'unpackaged', when after every lecture you emerge perplexed , with question marks, and after every reading, you ask yourself again; where was I? Why didn't I know? How could I not have seen it?

How much has happened in a year.
And then I realize, it has not even been one...

And so my intellect has grown; the sands, the fairy dust, the words and the drops of water, are still scattered in my mind, lifted in one breeze of thought after another, as they twirl in an array of color and sensation. Not a single one discernible from the other, each adding to the others depth, color, texture and frenzied motion. All emancipated and yet restricted to the limits of my mind at once.

They no longer bombard however, they blend, and they glide, shifting from one shape and one form to the next; more gracefully however, and I am at peace with their randomness.

The world still awaits at the doorstep.
And I flirt with it.
and I flit and fleet in and out of it.
I fear it, and I wish to embrace it.

But it's the gate to SOAS, and the gates and the windows that SOAS have build inside me that I don't want to leave behind.

And so I smile. I hug, and I nod emphatically. But my smile extends no further than my lips embrace. And something inside me tugs slowly and relentlessly.

A life in color..

2006-02-23T09:29:00.000Z

“Egyptian Landscapes”

Celebrating 50 years of Tapestry Weaving at the Ramses Wissa Wassef Art Centre, Cairo

'Human freedom never has as much meaning and value as when it allows the creative power of the child to come into action’ Ramsis Wissa. Founder of the Ramsis Wissa Wassef Art Centre.

As I pushed the heavy glass door that led into the gallery, I contemplated the blurry array of colors that shone through it, and held my breath in anticipation of what lay beyond it.
Inside, I was greeted with a strong gust of color, tanned faces, noisy markets, the ebbing Nile, breath taking nature, and the faint scent of heavy wool; all laced with the with the delicate melody of Oud chords and the jingle of tambourines. With this, I was home.

The Ramses Wissa Wassef Art Center’s tapestry exhibition “Egyptian Landscapes” celebrated 50 years of beautiful tapestry and enjoyed a vibrant success at the Brunei gallery in the School of Oriental and African Studies. The exhibition was inaugurated on the 19th of January and is expected to continue until the 18th of March.
On Display was 50 years of work from the Art centre as well as two representative weavers to tell their stories. For at the heart of the Gallery were Sabah and Reda, who sat in a glow of pride, boasting their talents, as their fingers danced across the threads of their looms.

Ramses Wissa, once a Cariene architect, worked with the philosophy that “every human being is born an artist”, that every human being was talented, given the opportunity to express it. The Wassef’s (Ramses and his wife, Sophie) ‘experiment in creativity’ lead to their starting a workshop in Haraneyya village in Cairo, where children with no particular artistic talents, and without much experiences in the field of tapestry, were given the opportunity to create tapestry in an uninhibited environment that ‘encouraged’ rather than instructed, and inspired to produce freely without the adult criticism that limited creativity. Ramses Wissa also taught the weavers to choose, as well as create their own colors. Thus, with the use of plant and insect extracts for colors, the craft was their own from it’s start to its finish.
Their Legacy is now continued through their daughters Suzanne and Yoanna Wassef.

One of the Centre’s prominent artists; Aly Selim joined the Wissa Wassef Centre at age 13 in 1961. Initially, Aly was turned away due to lack of space for a new student, however having returned to the centre with a tiny tapestry piece produced using left-over wool from his sister’s loom; there was no turning him away.

Aly’s engaging piece “The Hymn of Akhenaton”, reads as softly and as beautifully as the poem that is its namesake. Aly struggled with the challenge of portraying the different times of day in one picture as they were eloquently described in the poem. However, with Suzanne’s help, Aly was able to use the rising of the birds and departure from their trees at day break, returning at sunset, and disappearing in them at night along with the colors associated with each period to portray the almost musical transitions.

Karmia Aly, another talent, started with the Centre at the young age of 11 in 1955, and her work mainly portrayed her love for folklore. Karima’s impressive works include “Battle on Horseback” which reflected Karima’s inner struggle through the array of colors and motion reflected by an epic of battle fought by Bedouins and Fellaheen on horseback. Karima had used her craft to express her troubles allowing the clamour of swords and angry hooves to speak her inner feelings.

Karima’s other work, portrays the peace and tranquility that are her character in her tranquil blues and soft yellows.

The Egyptian Landscape exhibition presented us with true Egyptian talent using true Egyptian heritage. The materials used, the choice of colors, and the craft itself is true to Ancient Egyptian, Christian and Muslim tradition, and portrayed through folklore, humor, tragedy and magnificent beauty the stories and day to day lives of the every-day Egyptian.

This was not merely the story of the success of the socially conscious artistic endeavor. This was the story of a country, a culture, a heritage, and a celebration of natural inborn talent. A celebration by all those who’s lives , dreams, emotions were expressed through the tapestries, and a celebration by all those who were able to experience, and live them through.

For more, please visit; http://www.wissa-wassef-arts.com/

Epitaph on the Wrong Side of the River

2005-11-14T14:50:00.000Z

Was walking through a park, considerably lost ,as has become part of my daily routine, when i came across one of a thousand other slabs of stone, with lots of names scribbled on them and a statute of a struggling soldier untop.
The 'slabs' are usually a sort of monument for all those that died for king and country in different sorts of wars etc.
So anyways, as i rushed passed this one, my eye caught one name; "Rafa".
A few steps away, it suddenly occoured to me that "Rafa" is actually very close to "Rafa7" and could be the name of an Eyptian/Palestinian soldier! So i hopped all the way back.

Reading the names more clearly i found;

1917

Rafa
Hassana
Gaza 1
Gaza 2
Beer Sheba
Bir Khu Weilfe
Hill 265

Except for 'hill 265' (they numbered them?!) while reading the other names, immediately the picture of palestinian children sitting on the ground cross legged calling out name and each of these countries came to mind. Taught to name them with precise articulation, they were always ready to indicate the precise location of their homes on an imaginery map, (or even draw one for you) as well as recounting all the landmarks and qualities and fruits each of these places were famous for.

Warmed by the memory but slightly alarmed, i skipped to the very first column that read;

1916

Romani
Bahariya
Mazan
Dakhla
Maghara
Al Arish
Maghdaba

This ofcourse sprung a little chorus of "baladiiii ba7ebaha, kol 7etta fe baladi.. balaadiii ya walllaaa..."
And ofcourse my heart skipped a beat with the memories of the smooth stretching sands of bahariya and dakhla and all the little hills and '3agabat' i had climbed with friends and family as we conquered them as our own..
as well as the sea shells on al arish's beautiful seashores, the spectacular red-cross stitch embroidery on the scarves and gallabeyyat, and the beautifully windy family vacation we spent there.

Reading on next there was;

1918

Amman
Jordan Valley
Modawara (Hedjaz)

With this i was catapulted back to teh winding moutenous (or were they actually hilly?) streets of Amman (wonder if they attempted to re-number those!), and the tense yet mind replinishing week i spent in Aqaba with Palestine and the occupied territories only miles away, their lights shining through our view of the sea every night. So silent was the view, and yet so noisy and mind boggling their angry debates and internal struggles as they attempted to create a 'vision for peace' 'reconciliation' or 'co-existance' in the building behind us.
(Slightly daunted, as they were, by the recent events in Amman..)

Warmed by the memories, but chilled by the implications of their engraves on such a slab, i hurried over to the other side;

"To the glorious and immortal memory fo the officers, NCO's adn men of the imperial Camel Corps, British, Australian, New Zealand, Indian, who fell in action/died of wounds and diseases in Egypt, Sinai and Palestine"

Perplexed, I stood there for a long while trying to contemplate how it felt having so much of my warmest memories of a larger, more extended 'home', engraved on the slab, and an epitaph to those who threatened it on the other side..
How did i feel about their deaths?
i had always sympathized powerfully, with those that died in the WTC, the British/American soldiers that may have been brainwashed into fighting in Iraq, those forced to fight and stormed into trauma and PTSD's in Vietnam, even the israeli soldier that swore at me powerfully and threatened to crack my head open with a large stone in an ugly encounter on the borders of southern lebanon, had aroused much of my pity. He could not have been older than his late teens and was so full of anger and aggression towards someone he barely knew.

I could not feel anything human for these. i could not even try. Perhaps it was the sudden rush of warm memories and the (ironic) pride of finding 'names' so personal and close to heart engraved on one side of a stone, and a cold, chilly prospect on the other?

Shaken out of my trance-like daze, i decided to proceed with my treck, and asked a passer-by if she knew the way to my inteded destination.
She cocked her head to one side and squinted, getting her barings straight, then suddenly her face broke into a smile and she said;

"You're on the wrong side of the river luv.."

Bab El Shams

2005-11-09T13:56:00.000Z

An open evening with Elias Khoury seemed like 'another interesting thing to do', I had seen the movie and was infinitely moved, my own subjective love for a country and it’s people playing a huge part, the extent to which the movie exposed ‘real lives’ raw emotions, love , war, separation, and one of the cruellest realities in history another. However, I emerged from the lecture, eyes wide, heart racing, thoughts bouncing across my head in Brownian motion, and could not wait to share the events of the night to anyone who had the time for a good inspiration.

The evening was launched and moderated by novelist an historian; Tariq Ali. He began by asking Elias Khoury to read an extract from his book to the audience, after which a discussion would be launched.
Elias held up the book, looking at it sceptically and spoke to the audience of how "Amazing" and yet "Strange" it is to read a book which he's written in Arabic; in English.

"It's strange to find myself finding characters whom I’ve known and lived with for years suddenly speaking so many other languages.. and so much more fluently than I do!"
It seemed they had developed lives of their own, and continued to speak to thousands of people all over the world, in a million different languages.

The only common one being, that of humanity. This was, after all, a love story. The love story never told.

1. Kan ya makan... Once upon a time...

The story starts with Khalil, the son of Younis the main character, telling a comatose Younis bits and pieces of his own story.
Khalil told these stories in attempts to keep Younis alive, to save his own life! (as he was in hiding in the hospital and could only stay there as long as his father lived)

Khoury compared this to Shahrazad's One thousand and One nights, where she told the king stories day after day, so that she may entertain him enough to delay her execution one day after another.

Shahrazad, however told the stories of other people; people that did not exist. The idea behind Khalil’s story telling however was how he opened the story for other people to join in and contribute. And it is through telling their aspects of the stories that these people came to life.. they had a history a background, a character, feelings, a life; an identity.

Once Khalil mingled his story with those of all the others, the picture of Palestine was created, it's people, it's culture, it's music, it's events all came to life, living, breathing , existing in our imaginations.

2. A Love Story

This story is a love story. And that is all Khoury had set out to write. However, it was not only the story of Younis' love to Nahila, but Khoury's love to the Palestinian people.
“You open any TV or Radio station and you will hear the Arabs speak of the Palestinian cause, the Right of return, the situation in the occupied territories; they love Palestine. But the Palestinian people they love not. I wrote this book about my love for the Palestinian people.”

This book was about Younis, a Palestinian from the Village of Galilee, now a part of Israel. He married Nahila when she was only a child, an activist since young age, he spent his youth fighting the British. In 1948, he and Nahila are separated as he ends up as a Palestinian refugee in Lebanon, and she is stuck with her parents in law in Galilee.

“The strangest and most beautiful thing about this story is that 10 years into their marriage, and as Younis risks everything to go back to seeing Nahila, Younis and Nahila finally fall in love.”

“This is strange,” Khoury recounts, “because usually, ten years into a marriage, it is someone else's wife we fall in love with.. not our own."

3. A Language

In order to write this story, Khoury, spent much time in the refugee camps of Lebanon, particularly Shatilla, as that is where most Jalilee'ans had ended up.
He sat with the people of '48 , not only to hear the stories of what had happened and how it actually happened, but also to grasp the "Jalileean dialect" from it's nationals and make sure he uses it well in the dialogues in the book.

He looks back at the book as he mentions this detail, his nose a little wrinkled in perplexity;
"Yes, I was actually trying hard to investigate the Jalilee accent.. they don't really actually speak English as you might hear them now.."

4. A People: Om Hassan

The Passage Khoury was about to read us, was one of Om Hassan's. Om Hassan was a woman, who like many others, after the singing of Oslow, was permitted to return to her home-land, her village, her house, just to visit, just to see what had become of it.

Khoury explained that it was after this treaty and also in 1967 that the borders were opened for many Palestinians to visit their homelands and return to their displacements. At this time, many a home comers, would take video cameras with them to take shots of the place to take back ‘home’.
Overwhelmed with the experience and lack of experience in film making, the movies actually ‘showed’ very little. However, once taken back to the families, a minute of a poor shot movie would be translated into a million stories of the meaning and significance of each spot.
Thus it is through their stories, not the places, that their Palestine, their identity, their belonging came to life.

Om Hassan went to visit her house in the village, and though most houses had been demolished, hers was still there. Looking a bit newer, however.

Om Hassan surveyed the house , the garden, the tree in the backyard, saying very little as she reminisced the significance of all she saw.
Until they approached the house and knocked on the door.

An old woman, hair black, streaked with white opened the door, and much to their surprise , refused to speak in Hebrew and spoke to them in Arabic.

This woman was a Jew of Lebanon, who had lost her own place there in the civil war.
She let Om Hassan and her brothers in, and Om Hassan marvelled, as many a Palestinian did at returning to their homes, how most of the furniture and setting of her house, had barely changed.

This was a very powerful passage, powerful in the surge of feelings conveyed to us through Om Hassan, the fear, the disbelief, the ecstasy, the nostalgia, the memories.. and what i imagine might have been bewilderment, at coming this close, feeling this at home, and knowing that it was no longer yours, knowing that soon you would leave, and bid it's inhabitant good bye.

The power of the passage reached a peak, when Khoury described that upon finding out Om Hassan was Palestinian, the woman told her, (and i paraphrase)
"Return me to Beirut, and I would give you the WHOLE of Palestine!!"

How painful that must have been. If only it were hers to take. If only what was rightfully hers was hers to reclaim.

6. An existence

Rather than ‘telling’ their story, Khoury had always described how his characters came to life to him so that he suddenly felt they were speaking to him, that he was listening to them and conveying their stories to the others. With that, khoury emphasized that a writer's primary role is to 'listen' and convey, and not to 'tell'.

He had felt the strength of his characters and the pertinancy of their existence, when upon giving a lecture about the book, an old french woman called out from the audience asking Khoury to forget about literature and symbolisms.. "I really loved Nahila.. tell me more about her; the real person.."
Khoury laughed and explained that Nahila was only a character, had she been real, he would have married her, and not written about her!
Though the audience erupted in laughter, the old lady joined him once again, a little agitated, and demanded he speak to her of Nahila.
When once, again Khoury tried to assert that Nahila did not exist, the old woman stomped off, angry and exasperated..

"This.." Khoury explained "is the best thing that can happen to a writer.. that the people believe your characters, more than they would believe you.."
emphasizing the extent to which Khoury's characters had suddenly come to life.

Upon finishing the book, Khoury explained he felt very sad at finally having to part with his characters.
He also envied them. He envied Younis his Nahila, and Nahila her Younis. He envied them their struggle, their strength, their resistance, he envied them their love for each other and for their Palestine.

Question and Answer Session

1. This book was translated into Hebrew; what were the reactions to this?

Khoury explained that the reactions were actually very positive, the full stock of 5,000 copies were sold in one year and more were republished.

Khoury recounted a story of being in Canne, where the film was being shown, and at which point an Israeli woman stepped out at the interval crying and explaining to people that a number of mistruths were being communicated in the movie.

A younger man then walked up to her and told her taht he had just called his grandfather and asked him of specific events, and if this is the way they had attained their homeland, and his grandfather said to him;

"And how do you think Nations are built...?"

The book, to some, Khoury believed, was a discovery.

2. A recurring theme or thread that seemed to run through the story, was Younis' cries, "Men el Awwal", or "From the beginning" every time a significant event occurred. Will you tell us more about that?

The first way that Khoury explained this, was that every time something went wrong, it was to Younis, another Nakba, another mistake, another catastrophe, so it was as if it was happening all over again, bringing them back to the very beginning, the very big Nakba that must be overcome, for all else to be settled.

The Second, is that seeing that it is impossible for us to 'undo' history, we have to find ourselves a beginning to start from, to claim as our own. For the Palestinians to exist , they must begin. And through living and resisting, explained Khoury, they are beginning!

4. Must one be Palestinian to write a Palestinian story?

"I am not a Palestinain" explains Khoury as he reveals his Lebanese Origin.

He then tells the story of Margerit Duraz, a French writer.
Who , upon being asked as to her origins, post world war 2, claimed she was Jewish.
Margerit, was of course not Jewish, however it was because of the drastic events of World War II, that the Jews were seen as the most 'human' of all people..
because their stories as people, had become known to all, through their suffering.

And thus, wanting to be acknowledged as a human, and a wounded one at that, Margerit, claimed she was Jewish.

"I feel Palestinian, simply because I am a Human being.."

5. How long do you think the Palestinians can maintain their identity.. their culture, their customs their rights and their belonging..

"At least another 2,000 years... Just as the Israeli's have managed too.." replied khoury with a wry smile.

Throughout the seminar, Khoury kept emphasizing the importance of stories, and how the essence of an identity will always be best promoted and expressed, through them. We come to life through our stories, through stirring other's imaginations to see all the pictures, emotions and sensations in our heads. And it is through these stories and these memories that the Palestinians will continue to strive, resist and survive.

"Palestine needs more of these stories, than it does any other ideological discourse. This was my love story to Palestine. And in the struggle to verify our different versions of history, it is the story and not the history, that can prevail..."
Khoury.

On Home...(and polk-a-dot umbrellas)

2005-11-07T10:35:00.000Z

I flicked open my brown polk-a-dot umbrella and held it up high, marveling as I did at how it managed to shield all four of us, giggling and snuggling, out of the pouring rain.
My umbrella, more a polk-a-dot statement, than a real mobile shelter from the storm, was usually barely enough to shield my own head. Looking at it now however; I realized it hovered above all of us, keeping the raindrops away.

A few hours earlier, other warm notions and concepts, memories and ideas had hovered above us all as we tried to revive the old "Eid" cheer with Ghorayebba, and a general "hey heyh heyyyyh" attitude. It is in warm get togethers, with people that not only share your 'origins' but your active state of belonging, that Eid, Ramadan, and even Masr, come to life and hover above us all, rather than seeming like a distant memory as one tries to revive it on his or her own.

My favorite ‘hovering memory’, was that of my last felucca ride in Cairo. Felucca rides with close friends were always ones to deeply refresh one's mind and spirit.

Catapulted by the wind into the very heart of Cairo, and yet experiencing it as an onlooker, rather than being trapped inside the grind, Cairo, or to me 'Masr' always looked and felt beautiful when seen as the Nile might see it.
The wind, breezing through us, sent both; wisps of our hair and our imagination wildly prancing, created the perfect mood for a final recollection.
We marveled at Magles qeyadt el sawra, Kobry el Abbas where the students of the 1919 movement were shot and fallen to their deaths, Cairo's age old hotels, the Manial Palace gardens, and other places that strongly signify all this country has experienced as it continued to develop and reproduce itself.
We spoke to the 'rayess' as we usually did and marveled, again as we usually did at his perspectives on our Egypt. This time he spoke of being an Egyptian from Alexandria coming to 'Masr' for work, and spoke at length of the implications of his reference to ‘Masr’ el nadahha, rather than greater Cairo. His accounts were as enlightening as previous accounts of how he was forced to vote, and yet others of how 'el nas el shoghayarra' in this country are always subject to the will and rule of 'el nas el kebeera'.

Would it always be like this?
Under another Mubarak term, if Ayman Noor had come to power, if the Muslim brotherhood tookover, if the current religious tensions increased...
Would we come back to find it different...?

Our visualization of the scenarios was strictly limited to how all this would affect our experience in our felucca ride. We were somehow in the heart of our Masr, and yet somehow viewing it from an outside perspective.

Would the Magles still be there, would the Kobry, would someone , would anyone remember their stories? Would the buildings change in colors, would more old ones be torn down? Would the pollution affect our wisps our wind, would technology decrease our humidity, would the rayess be replaced, would he have as much freedom to speak? His smile as wry, his accounts as pertinent..?

Would I ever return to find my Egypt as it was to me...
Would I recognize it? Would I hold it as dear?
Would I be the same..?
Would too many lost Eids and too many nostalgic nights and too many hovering memories return us to a home we no longer recognized?

"We are all dispossessed of our childhoods; we return to a remembered or imagined scene to find at best frayed edges and faded colors. I say 'at best' ; for many of us the changes are more than the effects of time and an altered consciousness " Ahdaf Soueif

My incessant resorting to Ahdaf Soueif and Edward Said's writings over the last week, did not seem to me as anymore than my regular interest in my two favorite writers, despite the endless reading lists provided to me by university that only came second to them...
Until I suddenly found myself, as Eid rounded the corner, frantically switching from one writer to another, basking in, and savoring their memories of Egypt, and particularly the Zamalek I love so dearly.

Said's Egypt, was that of the 40's, a place almost unrecognizable in it's description, save for the occasional streets and venues (such as the fish garden), where I could share the warmth in relating to their respective memories. Soueif's Egypt was that of the late 60's, and though the places were much more familiar, they had very little traces of Said's older extinct Cairo, and a few touches of the all the social and political events, that now constitute a significant controversial part of our history and shaped the Egypt we live in today.

It was through contemplating Said's, and Soueif's very different Egypts, that I suddenly feared, that mine too would become a memory...reduced to a set of notions and pictures in my head… and occasionally hovering above a group of our heads’…

I had extracted this quote from Ahdaf's account on Said's and her Egypt, and how much of it was now in their memory, how little actually still existed.
More accurately, I would say the quote extracted me.

It was not only the realization that as her and Said's Cairo's had slowly faded and frayed, that mine too might eventually as well, but I was also suddenly struck with, and slowly assimilating the fact that it is impossible to return to a childhood scene and find it the same in anyway.
Just as it is impossible to revive any notion , emotion, experience, perception or conception that was developed at a particular time or place, in a particular context that no longer exists.

Perhaps, then, It is best to preserve these notions, these memories, with all the people, places, feelings, music, and events that accompany them, safe and sound in our little memory boxes, and attempt in their warm light to create the same pleasant 'feelings' and 'situations' of the new context.

How, however would I apply this to my own home.
Would I bear to live in it, if I no longer recognize it? Will it be as easy to return?
Will I still feel part of it? Or will I like a foreigner, find it impossible to adapt, like a grandmother, constantly rant and rave at things 'were before'.

"The best is to consider that we have a home nowhere, and only then does one really love the world..." Edward Said (Out of Place)

To the best of my understanding, Said found his situation as an exile, one that worked to his extreme advantage, that "Never feeling fully adjusted, always feeling outside the chatty...in this metaphysical sense is restlessness, movement constantly being unsettled, unsettling others" (Representations of the Intellectual) , this "willed homelessness" as he described it, gave him the power and ability to truly make the best of each of his experiences, to see the truths in all of them, rather than constantly compare certain experiences to others, holding them against each other, or simply trying to revive the old ones ignoring the new ones.

I tried to compare Edward's description of his "willed homelessness" to my frantic attempts to create the Ramadan and Eid atmospheres of my old life, what he would call "the earlier and perhaps more stable condition of being home" in my new one here in England.
It was my strongest blow and realization that I was quite far away from home, when I failed to re-create that atmosphere and homeliness and discovered that a new sort of experience was on call.

Perhaps if I stop trying so hard to link my Egypt, if I let go of the powerful notion of it as my only home, to which I must inevitably return, and for which my every effort exerted, every experienced endured was dedicated to, I would settle in more easily in this new world, and perhaps be a little less torn to return to my other.

Perhaps though Said's awareness that there was no home to return to gave him a "unique pleasure" and a heightened sense of awareness to all that went on around him, what I imagine would be a sort of 'emancipation', perhaps I too would be able to emancipate myself in realizing that as I was to grow and change, so would my country, and that for either of us, this change might not necessarily be for the best. But it makes us both wiser and richer.

I do not feel homesick in London. That is , I do not feel particularly 'exiled’ here, or much like an outsider. Perhaps, of course it is my conscious will to come and begin here, but also because it is the world with which's literature and language I have been introduced to the world. It was both the language of instruction of my education, and the country of which most of my literary background and experiences had originated.
The people, their nature and accent are no less familiar to me, than any other people I had grown up with, its transport system, its streets, its venues, not at all unfamiliar to my eye or mind. And perhaps these are all things one should be wary of to ensure that one is never too familiar, never too comfortable to feel the 'jolt' of awareness that unsettlement provides, to keep one alert and understanding, to keep one critical , skeptical, questioning, probing, unsettling those around them at all times.

I do not feel like an outsider in London. But it is before I sleep, almost every night, that I recollect and reminisce bits and pieces of my Egypt, the one I am not too sure I will re-experience again..

I remember the owner of the kiosk in Aswan refusing to take money for my drinks after a short conversation,
I remember the women I worked with in a micro-credit project in Moqattam telling me that tomorrow was bound to be a better day, no matter how drastic her situation was simply because "no matter how dark it gets at night, the sun will come up every morning.." punctuating it with a smile..
I remember the little boy wandering up and down the Nile banks of Garden City, selling necklaces made out of seashells he collected off the beach 'back home' in Arish, where he lives on weekdays, and my internal dilemma of whether this is unjust child labor, or whether his excitement at the sales of his creative produce are worthwhile..
I remember how we were attacked in the last protest, my disbelief at the looks in the eyes of the amn markazy, and the shake in my belief of Egyptian 'values',
I remember my expidatory walks down El Ghoreyya with my father,
my love for downtown's architecture and all the various civilizations it symbolizes,
I remember how easy it was to go jogging in the club, or walk into any cafe and know I will meet someone I know..
how much I love our traditional walks in Zamalek..
how colorful and noisy and musical and chaotic my shisha infested Egypt was in Ramadan,
how easily a 'nasty' government official can be turned over with a smile, and strong attempt to break the sarcasm, and how you can be suddenly transformed from 'despicable enemy' to trusted confident as she starts to describe her husband with "Shuf el raaaagel.." (Will you take a look at what that man's done...")

I miss it. And I Love it.
And I am no longer optimistic about finding it again.
"At Best", because I too, will have changed.
Perhaps it is up to one to consider all with;

"Pessimism of the Intellect and Optimism of the Will". Gamsci.

Though one may see all the negatives or pitfalls of the situation, one considers all with the will to make it and see it in a better light. Or one is at least hopeful. Somehow.

No. I may not be 'homesick' in London.
But I cannot deny that every time Yenassam 3alaya el Hawwa men Mafra2 El Wady;
I think to myself; "Ya Hawwa, dakhl el hawwa... [1]"

[1] From Fairuz's Song "Nassam 3alayna el Hawwa"

العيد ب"حاله" جديد

2005-11-04T02:52:00.000Z

I had tried as with many other 'notions' and 'experiences', to recreate my 'eid experience' here in London.. but failed miserably.

Maybe some things are best kept as memories.

Some notions, experiences, emotions and conceptions are best remembered at the time and place and context they were experienced at.

And maybe that isn't a bad thing after all...

Every situation, event and experience, is a direct result of the combination of people, the time, the place, and the person you are on the inside at that particular point in time.

Thus the effect of the experience, with all the music, culture and emotions that represent it, and are produced by it, are unique and special in their individual entirity, and cannot be reproduced.

We are, I guess then, to make the best of every new situation, and better yet, every new 'us' in creating 'notions' and 'experiences' that are particular to our new context.

"We are all dispossessed of our childhoods; we return to a remembered or

imagined scene to find at best frayed edges and faded colours" Ahdaf Soueif

Sometimes we even return to the site of a special memory, and discover we are so much bigger in size, that even the attempts to re-experience or relive , become distorted.

Perhaps then, it is best we savor those memories of how it once was, how it once felt, and attribute them to all their different phases, and strive in the warmth of those memories, to create new ones.

To recreate the same 'feelings' and similar 'experiences' making the best of all the new 'elements' of our new context.

The new people, the new music, the new context and the new 'us'.

They will be different.

But perhaps even in that difference we will create more memories worthy of a whimsical smile, and a yearning once again, for what once was.

"Pessimism of the intellect, Optimism of the will" ? Anotnio Gramsci

Eid Eid Eid....

2005-11-04T02:51:00.000Z

I rushed into the tube station for shelter after another greusome and futile struggle against the wind, armed with little more than my polkadot (inside-out turning) umbrella.

As i regained my composure, i spotted a little stand with a vast array of chocolates, sweets, cookies, drinks, nothing i wanted in particular, but everything that could meet my fluttering, no longer fasting, heart's desire :)
On approaching the stand i was welcomed by a realy warm smile and the tradional "Oi Love.."
sounded a bit like an irish/scottish drawl, but, then again, what would i know :)

I picked out a pack of chewing gum, and looked at the salesman inquisitively, "That'll be 40 pence, darlin'"
I smiled back again, always touched at the affectionate "passing endearments"...
I spotted a pack of tissues, and figured, that too would be a worthwhile purchase,
"And those?" i asked..
"Sure Darlin', would you like it in pink or orange.."I smiled, touched again, as he decided pink would suit me best..
I payed, and he returned the change with much affection and warmth and kindness, transmitting what i felt were phsychological 'hug vibes' all the way.

As i prepared to leave, he cocked his head to one side, looking a bit unsure, then with another strong beam and mispronounciations, awkwardly blurted:

"Eid Saeed?"

I reacted with a sharp intake of breath as my eyes widened, my eyebrows raised, my mouth stretched wide on either side of my face and my chin dropped considerably..
Yes, my face, had grown considerably.
He had uncovered my best kept special secret.
Elnahardah eidey :)

I smiled and loudly very excitedly replied "Aywa! aywa! Thank you!"
and attempted to send back as many hug vibes as i could.. as he stood there beaming back at me, proud of his gesture.

I stood back waiting for my train and kept trying to figure out what gave me away?
Where they my extra-neat curls i had laborously attempted to tame this morning for the occassion?my crisp, well-matched outfit?
My complexion?
Maybe, my favorate azza fahmy necklace, given to me by my mother on my last birthday; a string of green and purple semi precious stones, and a big dangling pendat that read "Al omr el Salem" in beautifully caligriphied arabic..

Nonetheless,i sat in the train, catapulted, for some reason, into a string of childhood memories of all that eid ever was.
My father bouncing on our beds (my brother and i) on eid mornings chanting
"Eid eid eid..
eid eid eid..."

Picking out presents in our favorate toystores and being told "dee ba2a men teyta..." "dee amo mamduh.."
And i would wonder incessently, did teyta from egypt somehow predict i would choose those toys but tell dad to let me pick them out on my own, ultimately believing i had chosen my own presents?
Choosing to believe in magic, fantasy and the power of my special family's crystal balls, i would never bother to ask.

Later on , in the Egypt eid's, the eideyya that was popped into our pockets, in the joking "here's your ba2shish for today manner.." or ta3aly bas 3ayzaky fe kelma..

The ka7k i would remind myself every year, did not agree much with my tastebuds, but can never seem to resist every time it comes 'round.. for three consequative days, before i remember again, "Maba7ebuhush aslan!!"

The family trips to the desert, sitting in a circle, each telling bits and pieces of a story and coming up with one ridiculous bundle..

The little presents i would buy family members (whom i couldn't offer '3eideyas) depending on 'what' i felt 'represented' or 'reminded me' of whom..

The all day family get togethers, of one meal after the other, when at teh end of every ramadan we remind ourselves that we were sick adn tired of food.. come first day of eid, it was food fest once again!

Za7met sherra hudum el eid that hit cairo once "wala lessa badry badry ya shahr el seyyam.." started to play on radios and tvs..
all the new frilly dresses and neatly piled "2ossas" on little girls' forheads, and the perfect "bedal el geysh" or little suits worn by little boys..

The concept that no matter what was due where, no matter what had to be done, first day of eid was sacred "nothing to do-ness" and complete familyness..
and no matter how much of it's splendour it had started to loose as i grew older, i always woke up wtih a tiny lit special feeling inside me...

Being away from "it all" and my family in particular, the fact that life didn't stop, and that london seemed quite indifferent to my special little secret, made me feel forgotten by all eid's splendours..
as if i was too far away for it to reach me..

But i wore an outfit, not new, but very recently purchased by my last shopping spree with my mother.. (my favorate shopping partner!)
I went out for breakfast and treated myself to a warm espresso and scrumptious chocolate chip cookies with my best friend..
and plan for a special dinner with my entire warm, loving family, all encapsulated in one very special heart and soul mate.

There's little ka7k, little heyssa, little 'pause' from it all...
But i'm sure it took my family alot of effort to create that atmosphere for us, that eventually implanted itself inside me, and all around me..

Some things are just what you make of them :)
And some occassions are worth making the best of...

Eid saeed awey :)

عيد .... وبأى حال جئت يا عيد؟

2005-11-03T08:03:00.000Z

Amazing how your throat constricts and a pool of tears can immediately fill ur eyes upon a certain 'thought'.
Almost like a 'sadness button' is pushed, triggering the tear duct hose, and pulling the throat muscles back.. Making way for the flood of warmth and wetness, and occassional intakes of breath that can relieve chest heaviness like nothing else.

It's eid today. And I guess motanaby's phrase " و بأى حال جئت يا عيد" resonates in my head, for many meanings which he may not have even alluded to..

وبأى حال جاء عيدى...أحقاًِ جاء عيدى؟؟

لن أجده بعد

I thought to myself this morning, if it is "Eid" that comes or "el" "eid"...

If it is merely 'eid' that comes, than it is an event, and in reply to the question "El nahardah eid?" you can either answer ' yes' or 'no'.. the question of whether or not you celebrate it, goes back to you..

However if it's "el" "eid", than it is the time for it.. it's the time we've been anticipating and waiting for and it 'comes'.

The notion of the 'coming' of days and occassions, was revealed to me as quite delusionary this ramadan. I waited for the 'ramdan feeling' to come and it never did..

Eventually though, it came to make sense.

Ramadan started late october, and no day was realy any different than the other; it's just the series of events that hit Cairo in ramadan that hit you like a wave and take you through the summersaults and turbulences, the peaks and troughts, the ecstacy and the mere starvation, one day after the other, till your thrown on the sunny shores of a warm comfortable and even lazier eid...

Eid meant family, above anything else, it meant new clothes. It meant kahk, smiley faces adn cheerful moods regardless of what might be going on inside you..

It meant going out somewhere new, enjoying old familiar warm, favored company..

We didn't get to buy our new clothes here, as it just never seemed to gain enough priority to push it up the list..

There's realy no time for spending much time together as there is work, and a number of other commitments taht seemed to have pushed themself above el eid, no matter how high up i tried to push it, at least on the day that was attributed to it.

It scares me.

It scares me that something is practiced beautifuly and sacredly my whole life through, and suddenly on discounting a few physical experiences (a meal with a loved one, an outing, new garments), i loose it...

Needless to say, i have not made us worthy of a 'eid coming' or a 'eid visit'.

And so i start my day alone, with clothes that wear me well, with little excitement, except for the fact , that once again, i can have my cheese sandwhiches for breakfast... my cookies whenever i please.

The day is no longer crammed into it's last few hours; the world is mine to explore and experience any time of day..

But what if it never comes again?

What if i can no longer enjoy the 'break', the way everything stops, and all pays head to family traditions, to big gatherings, to little work and much play, to laughter and ka7k adn jokes and laziness and phonecalls and giggles, warm hearts and the excitment of wearing something 'NEW'.

The carefreeness that can turn us all to children.

Life proceeds normally in this busy london where everyone is going or coming from somewhere.. and where i to shall join in, on my somehwere... and back again.

Maybe it'll all stop for christmas. And there will be taht laziness and specialness... Maybe i should start investing in trees and gifts under the trees.

Will it matter?

It will not be about the event that christmas stands for, but all that christmas at teh heart of it signifies. It will be about warmth, togetherness and the excitment of making someone happy and the anticipation of all that has been done for you...

We make our own worlds; true.

Perhaps my eid was warmer and more significant than that of others...

Will i re-experience it once i return to Egypt? or does it change shape and form, as my role as my parent's daughter adn a member of that warm nuclear family changed shape and form as well as i tore myself out of it...

Or maybe it's floating around in all the confusion floating around me as i unsettled all the dust that are my values, priorities, objectives adn aspirations as i make several new steps on unfamiliar, but much cherished grounds...

I guess only time will tell.

Time for my legitimized cookies..

Aho Geyh Ya Welad

2005-10-25T11:09:00.000+01:00

mesh to2ulu..:)

every year, and particularly at this time of year, ( as some of you might remember), i used to send very animated messages to 'alert' for the onset of another ramadan, or another eid..

it would be something like the "Ahlan ramadaaaan..." song, with a complete description of the chorus, adn the ridiculousness and shrillness and beauty of the song, taht was implanted in each of our memories, regardless of whether or not we wanted it there..

or it would be drawing a picture of welad running all over the place as i sang "Aho-h geyh ya welad.."

i'm sure the humour, if any was found at all, was in the fact that i triggered a very common, an almost 'shared' imagination.. based i guess on similar backgrounds, or inevitably the same tv channels, or radio stations humming for a considerable number of years..

i think, regardless of whether or not we enjoy or celebrate ramadan, or what it realy meant or signified to us.. no one can deny that it 'COMES'...
it's not a month you arrive at, as you make your way through the year..

no , this one;
it comes.

the amar el din stocks up in the supermarkets, only to suddenly vanish, and then slowly regularly make it's way back into the market in teh sufficient or demand meeting amounts.. the bala7, the crowds after noon, tilll right before the madfa3, and the eerily empty roads for the half hour or so, when everyone's gulping something down somewhere...
the non-productive hours at work.. the sudden sleeplessness, the long nights, the different sounds of tarawee7 and tahaggud prayers, often times musical, or spiritually refreshing..

el fawanees, the sweet, shisha infested 2a3dat, on a completley full stomach , adn the sweet aftertaste of atayef and konafa and bala7 el sham in your mouth..

the friends.. teh family , the family the family...

beyeegy ya welad, we ahlan ramadaaan, we bnefra7lu, we ba3den before you know it, wala lessa badry badry, and suddenly el balaleen wel la7ma, we ahlaaaaan ahlan bel 3eid. heyh heyh eyyyhh?

henna ba2a magash.

i always knew it was gonna be 'ba3d mawsal london beshwaya' we ba3deyn i knew it was el esbu3 el gay..
then it was bokra, aw ba3du..
then a few phonecalls from egypt later..
it was bokra.
and we slept the night, and bokra came..

bas bardo magash.

el welad magush. they didn't come runing through, or singing from side to side, la huwwa ganna, wala ana 3ereft afra7lu...

i waited..
i waited for teh fasting to sink in..
though it is a tad more difficult, because no one else aroundyou is doing it, and actually suddenly ti seems like, barely anyone walks around without a drinking or eating something, it actually makes the sprititual aspect of fasting more apparent.
ofcourse, becuase ur starvation speaks much louder to you.

bas that's if you tried hard to find it.
i tried a great number of other ways as well..

we have a few gatherings every now and then..
and i guess teh biggest difference would be the fact that i've been working on bonding iwth the oven lately.. in an attempt to help it co-operate with me in producing food on our table..

bas still. ofcourse, everything is 'different'..
bas bardo, the fact remainds en huwwa magash..

there's something realy strong about community and culture adn togetherness, and the words, and songs, and tunes and eventually music that develops out of that togetherness..

there's a sort of euphoria keda that comes through when a group of people get together to do something..
not only if all are doing it with excitment.. even if some are doing it wtih exctimetn and others with a groan..

i'm sure there's one aspect of ramadan we all used to look forward to , even if we don't enjoy it all together..

i was one of those people who love it inside out.
it meant so much.. it signalled so much..
it came in so quickly adn hugged so tightly,i just had to giggle and enjoy it.. else i'd have been suffocated, no?

so it's ramadan adn i'm fasting,and drastically trying to think of what we're going to do about eid..

eid has gradually meatn less and less as we've grown older, bas it still 'meant'.
it at least 'meant' family, and vacation, and indigestion at so much food so early in the day..
i don't want eid to go away too.
or maybe that's exaggerating.
i just don't want it, not to be there.

we had our first 3ozuma today..
our very first :)
and i cooked too :)

and suddenly there's a new social circile we're developing, or maybe, one i'm newly fitting in..
a few people i've known forever andmean the world to me, some i used to make eye contact and smile at when in uni.. somei'd heard about and never seen, some i'd had casual relationships with.. some i'd met at some early point in my life, and never seen again adn suddenly run into here..
suddenly they've all come together, and it feels we are being recycled into friends :)

is that putting it in a bad way?
it's actually realy nice.

you re-discover people you thought you think you knew, or you have such an old pic of in ur mind,and u bring it out and dust it and actively converse with it..you add more color and meaning and you find yourself more and more in all the different shades..

so we start over again..

and i look at my pics of el fara7..
and i think of all the memories we have with each adn every single person..

all the funny things we've done.. all the serious things we've decided to do, all the things we succeeded at, all we failed at, all we've seen dand done together..
and it's all very deeply engraved within me..

when will i see everyone again?
will it be as easy to pick up on an old story and laugh.. or pick up on anything and laugh again?
will we be able to build things together again?
there will always be so much in common i know..
either because we've grown so much of ourselves together, or simply because we're all growing towards similar ends, hopes dreams...

El Nas el Soghayara

2005-05-26T13:20:00.000+01:00

It's very interesting how you only ever feel/discover ur bruises the very next day.
And how in exploring the bruises, and the different levels of hurt and pain associated with them that you start to recall and realize the sort of experiences you've had that lead to them.
And only then that you re-experience the whole experience...
and all the feelings you stashed away come out; demanding to be dealt with, and all those you overlooked, tugging at your sleeve..

"Putting your foot down", has alot of images and associations with it.
I autmatically imagine; feet placed firmly on the ground, back straight, and the occasional raf raf of the 3alam in teh background.
Strong in intent, true to a cause, fighting for what you believe in.
You imagine honor, dignity, truth, 'peace of mind' and often even triumph.

Attempt to put our feet down yesterday however, was much less romantic.
It involved alot of fear, humiliation, shock, dissapointment, and often even disdain.
The honor, dignity, truth, and peace were alot of the time completely lost in the din.
And at times i felt i wanted to physically hide them away inside me , when i was suddenly in a situation where none of that existed.

There's a small acute ball of panic inisde me that keeps threatening to surface.
It comes out as i remember thinking
"they won't hurt us. they won't hurt us. they won't hurt us.."when i saw bitterness and hatred and a sort of 'happy' rage in the eyes of an opponent i had never developed.
When i keep remembering that hte people that were most intent in hurting me, were the at one point the main drive behind which i felt i needed to put my foot down, to demand a system that served us all well.

It threatens to come out as i remember the sight of the members of the labor party taht were dragged away infront of us by teh baltageyya, one carried away with two men holding him the arms, two others carryign him by the legs, pullting his legs apart occasionaly as they ran with him..
another slapped on the head,teh face, the neck, the head teh chest, as they dragged him along..
adn another, and another..
and that was before anythign every happened..
when we were looking for the international media.. making sure they were filming.. how did they somehow become our source of justice and salvation?

when the pro-mubarak army, first showed up large in number, dinasour like in sound and movement.. threatening to trample us..
Although later on saneyya was saying over and over
"Kanno keteer awey.. 7asesuna enenna mahzumeen, ennenna mo7awteen..."
i don't think that's why our cry's might have been quieter, our silences longer..
nor was it the fact that we were corndered they were right infront of us, the wall right behind us, and amn el dawla right beside us..
i think it was more about the shock..
it's one thing to fight the state.. to fight el 'amn'.. it's another to fight a group of unemployed completely maqhureen civilians.. the true victimes of the system... how did we happen to be on diff sides..??
how was all their rage suddenly directed at us?!
Suddenly they were jumping on cars, and grabbing our fliers and tearing them, calling us '3omala2 amerikan..'
and shouting "Hosniiiii hosniii..." like some sort of Ariel commercial.
It was enough to completely take ur breath away. completely.

At a later point in the day, when on a felucca, recounting the events of the day, particularly our attempts or non attempts to vote.. the felucca sailor asked us if we were talking about the voting that took place that day..
yes?
could we please explain what the red circle and what the green circle stood for?
he was forced to vote, he adn the rest of the crew, and chose the green as it seemed a more positive thing to do..
what was it?
Later on and after a thorough conversation, he explained how the government/state gets its say in whatever it wants..
"Awel marra fe 7ayaty yekhayaruney..
we lamma khayaruna.. khayaruna bel3afya..."
We spoke of rights, of strife, of working for and against waht they believe in and against..
how it was OUR country.. and 'they' were a ruling minority...
"e7na nas soghayareen... wel nas el soghayareen maye2darush ye3melu 7aga..."We spoke of how MANY nas soghayaereen we were, how imp i twas to realize we COULD do something..

He pointed at a far away bridge.. asrn el nil... 6th of october?
and described a group of 'small people' who had decided to stand up for something they believed in. They marched away from their university, and unto the the bridge, and were shot and pushed off the bridge..
one by one they fell off the bridge into the water..
one by one..
his hands still pointint out to the bridge, his eyes tracing their journey from the very top to the veyr bottom..

There was a breif excitement wa2t el hetafat when they were loud and strong indicating each and every thing we had had 'enough' of..
hosni mubarak, tazwir aswat, as3ar mortafe3a, fasad, fat-hi surur, el baltageyya...
it went on and on, where people pitched in with everything and anything they had had enough of, and everyone would shout in unison
"Kefaaaaya.."

Then teh panic comes once again at the image of the Watany dogs slowly trickling between the walls of the security and unto the stairs of neqabet el sa7afeyeen, slowly slowly moving up a step at a time, growing in number and magntitude...
as we simultaneously realized that the neqaba would let us in..
again no place to go, and such hatred and intent to hurt rising up against you..
Eventually they told us we needed to jump off the side, the amn would help us down..
the amn would take care of us..
bring us down they did.

The feelings, sights, experiences and events that followed were ones that were truly horrific.
more now than they were then.
and every one of us with as little or much damage as we experienced then, emerged MUCH luckier, than many other that day..
we had not experienced improsenment, or tht 'extent' of humiliation that other girls and other guys experienced. nevertheless, there was humiliaton, dissappointment, and betrayal.

Later on at night nora and i met with Seif el Islam of Hisham Mubarak law office..
suddenly someone 'good'. literally a 'good guy' hehe
someone who was fighting for the right of others, pushing for people's safety and well being, trying to make sure they got their due.. he was very refreshing.
he was also very experienced, very knowledgable, very aware of all the events that surrounded us, and all that was behind each and every event.
he helped close all the loops, fill the gaps and wholes and straighten some of the question marks that lingered in our heads. and he did it with a kindness and gentless that was unlike anything else we experienced all day. so warm keda...
being htere was almost like being in a hug. suddenly safe. suddenly 'trust'.
Nora tells me later on of Seif's story, his attempt to bring about to change, to push for htings as they should be.. to put his own foot down..
and the 5 years of torture he experienced upon his arrest.. stories i had not even imagined possible..

So alot of goodness, CAN come out of alot of pain nad humiliation and betrayal..
he studied law while in jail, and cna now help all those who fight for what they believe in, and attempts to save them from all he himself had experienced in the process...
his pain is constructive.. and he emerged out of it a garden.
so warm. like a hug.

After that, we attended a meeting for all those that were arrested and let out that day..
they were all so positive and so light keda. like it was 'all in a day's protest.. and i don't think it was about them being used to it.. it was about it being necessary... no struggle is easy.. no change comes with out 'naz3' and 'neza3'.
a representative of the labor party was there.. and he spoke of unity adn solidarity, of the need for creativity adn presistance and togetherness.. of ugly days to come..
bas of the ugliness being our way through a dark and dreary tunnel, and our only way unto the light..

i do feel bad. i do.
i feel like there's alot of ugly inside.
bas i have no regrets.
and that in itslef produces alot of guilt for all that i had not realy experienced. that i had not seen many levels and extents that others had..

Mr. Seif was telling us that a woman (passerby) who had been stripped by the watani dogs (she was a student going up to thte syndicate to attend the course) was hysterical, and crying
"dee mesh masr! mesh masr dee!"
as she recounted her experience to him.. how el amn let her into the syndicate and 'released' 5/6 guys after her..
they pounced on her harassed her and stripped her on teh stairs up tot eh syndicate before someone could grab her up adn out..
and i could relate..
i could relate when telling myself..
"e7na fe masr... they won't hurt us when they come realy close.. afterall, we've never done anything to them..."
the fact that i was a 'girl' was also somehow encouraging me to be patient and strong. they wouldn't realy hurt us. they wouldn't.
irnoically enough the very same thing i told myself in 1998 in the very first protest i attended, adn right before amn el dawla were given the signal to ram us to teh ground.

:) how did it happen again??

stragnely enough this time, i emerged iwth a stronger sense of ownership..
it's mine. we mesh 7asebhalko.
an amazing sense of solidarity.
it was so beautiful to be there with friends.
there is definately a sense of togetherness in ebing in a protest and finding so much in common.. int erms of feeligns and emotions and stances with all those that surround you, regardless of ur differences.
but there's an ultimate "SOLIDarity" in being there with friends..
knowing someone will watch over you and watching over people...

having people to reflect with, on all that is beautiful on all that is ugly..
finding people like Mr Seif to resort to when the 'trust' is suddenly lost, and where there was once warmth adn peace and 'intent' there's suddenly alot of cold air passing in and out..in and out.

my bruises still hurt, my feet don't feel as planted as they should be.. but my intent is strong i guess..
more than that, i feel like part of soemthing so much bigger and stronger and better.. i feel like i'm realy truly honestly fighting for something htat is worthwhile, and it is not i or the cause i wish to fight for that inspires or drives me,... but all the people that were with me..
and the dignity adn truness and stregnth adn courage, that they have shown in the face of the ugliness..
it is that that gives me stregnth..

There was Nora, and Dina, and Zeinab, and Yasso, and Mongy, Samer, Rabab and also Marwa and salma...
I may not have my feet firmly on the ground khales, bas i felt all teh stregnth and truness and determination and honor and dignity through them..
and honestly, at this phase of thought and experience, they are the positive aspects of yesterday's experience..
the humour and the humility adn ketir the courage thruogh all the mental and physical turbulence..

there's such a stregnth in togetherness and truness of intent..
betatgha 3ala ay 7aga.. and it realy makes el nas el soghayarra.. kebira awey..

Rain-lit Skies a-pouring...

2005-05-01T02:52:00.000+01:00

Mesh ma32ul i LOVE this country.
The winters are SPECTACULAR. can't wait to write about it!
it's been raining so hard today so HEAVY keda like HUGEsheets that just keep falling.i've been needing to leave the office for at least an hourand not able to. that's how heavy :)and then SUDDENLY. the sun is out. it's 4:15 and the sun isout as if it's midday.it's as if the sky was crying and suddenly stopped and issmiling keda and yawning and stretching..one by one the clouds receede showing more and more sun..and what was grey adn wet and loud, is suddenly bright andcolorful, and the soudns of the people adn the street onceagain emerge after being stunned into silence by all thedownpour.
what's incredible about winter in egypt is that i feel like evyerthing is celebrating.. the sky plays games with you as the clouds tease the sun, the rain falls and stops and receeds, and the wind comes in and moves out just as quickly chasing them all around, pushing the clouds into each other to cause rain, then eventually pushing the clouds into the sun to ignite a POWERFUL rainbow!at the end of the day the air is so beaitful to breathe, so fresh, but full of little spiky frost particles, that tickle your nose if you breathe in too deeply.
your nose if you breathe in too deeply.
the sun is always shining; trying to overcome the challenge that all the forst presents as it tries to rule out any warmth the sun preserves.At the very beggining or the very end of every day, or eventhe very middle after a petite storm, the mostbeeeeeeeeaaauuuitful feeling in the world is stopping in a sun patch in the street, straightening your back, closing your eyes and raising your face to the sky for a sunkiss :)
wait for it. wait for it... ahhh the warmth.. and your ownsmile comes breaking through...

"Edrak Al Edrak"

2005-05-01T02:50:00.000+01:00

Ibn el Arabi's "Al 3agz 3an edrak al edrak, edrak.."
i loved it COMPLETELY..
when i came back from cairo to camps (the refugee camps in lebanon), i felt like my world was shattered, as all the storngstances and principles and beliefs i had were completelyshattered. shattered shattered ya3ni.not all of them ofcousre, but some of the very asaseyeen ones relating to my understanding of life, and the world andjustice adn fairness and humanity and childrena dn thatparticular politilca siutationa dn taht 'cause' i believedso much in..bas after i pulled through that i realized how much wiseryou become when you realize you DON'T know..it's a higher level of wisdom, knowledge and humility..
bas edrak is not comprehensions.. comprehension is onlyunderstnading :)
edrak is a combination of undersatnding and realizing andbeing aware of.. edrak encompasses your heart your mind andyour soul.. whilst comprehension only takes a certain partof your brain..al 3agz 3an edrak al edrak..the first adn second edrak can be seen as completel
as if enta beta3gaz 3an edrak tel al edrak alladhy la yodraksimply because you cannot ENCOMPASS It..and ir ealted it totally to how i feel about you..i cannot FULLY edrok it.. i can\'t be molemma of it.. bas that\'s enough to know for me to \'udrek\' how i feel.
if you take it to a much much deeper level kaman it\'s thedifference between faith adn belief.. you need to todrek aledrak to beleive.. you need to be able to see it , feel itcomprehend it, keda..faith on the other hand is what you have when you realize you can\'t use your mind onlyto \'edrek\' or realize..
el 3agz kaman is not failure.. i think it\'s more like beingunable, incapable.. bas again \'an ta3gaz\' is when you try to gather all resources and capabilities adn senses masalan,bas you \'ta3gaz\' not that you fail.. failture has anegative connotation keda.. like \'loosing\', el 3agz is whenyou just cannot.. you need MORE OF, to do it.. bas you justdon\'t have it. it\'s just completey NOT be2eedak.. thereforeta3gaz..God, does that make sense to you? i so feel it..it also indicates that you needn't understand everythingkeda to udrek or know it.. sometimes knowing that you can't fully udrek something means you adrakt its power masalan..you know :)my favorate quote.. EVER, is by el ghazali i think.. not sure..i MUST have told it to you at laeast a million times before, it's my signature quote;
"It was. What it was was harder to say. Think the best, but don't let me describe it away.."
I'm yet to get it in arabic. bas he was initially probably describing the ecstacy that comes with certain sufiststates.. bas at the end of the day he was describign a very SPIRITUAL feeling, that you CANNOT describe using words..fa he's asking htat you THINK BEST, don't let me descibe itaway.sometimes some feelings are so strong, that words are just very FEEBLE in describing any aspecs or elements of thefeelings.. it's like the words are small vehicles keda.. bas
they were created for small sepcific purposese..
english foreg is more pragmaic..
arabic carries much more spiritual,poetic and divine meanings, maybe that's why it's so much richer or deeper..bas the idea is at the end of the day they are words and aceration by mankind to 'communicate' to other men..whereas the feeligns htat you attempt to describe throughwords are one not ONLY created by God, bas they are alsoprobably part of God kaman.. and so you cna't simplydescirbe them..and sometems by attemptind to do that you degrade themkeda.. scatter adn splatter them, and make them seem messy and clumsy wehreas inside you they are glowing , beautiful ,fulfilling, encompassing and softly adn gently , yet fullyadn aggressively penetrating all of you.. triggering amillion different emotions and sensations and thoughts andideas adn phsyical and mental stimulations all at the sametime..
so when you 'describe it away', you just keep trying toencapsulate it into teh differnet kinds of words, betfatfet-ha until it disintegrates completley keda..so think best.. and don't let me describe it away.. :)

"Sal2at Mal2at" أصل الكلمة : "سلأت وملأت

2005-05-01T02:49:00.000+01:00

One day we were talking about language and asl el kelma andwhat not so they were explaining asl "Sal2at Mal2at.."
do you know thatsaying?
ta2reeban if something gets lost people say:
"ra7et fesal2at ra7et fe mal2at.. mesh 3aref ra7et feyn.."
or APPARENTLY that's what's said..
the origin of it is in a story of a man, en2elling a balassa of 3assal from one place to another...
he got it from home and was travelling to the market to sel lit..
so he was carrying it on his head, and moving along happily ever after.
And then, he needed to stop for a drink. so he put the balassa down, went to drink men el beer.
now as he was drinking, a group of quta3 turuq (the quta3'schildren actually) came out of their hiding quickly andstole the 3assal from teh balassa and ran..
the falah returning from his drink and unsuspecting of the event that lead to the emptiness of his balassa, put the balassa back on his head and continued his journey..
once he reached the souq he was horrified to find the balassa was empty!
fa darrab kaff 3ala kaff and he told the people, while heheld out his hand in an expression of furstration adnhelplessness..
"Ma Mal Qat... Ma Sal Qat!!"
get it? ya3ni el balassa la kanet mallet wala kan el 3assal,saal.. umal how did he lose it??!
hehe, ok just asked ostaz Hamdi, and he claims it's "Kanet fe sal2at ba2et fe mal2at..."

The Sun Kiss

2005-05-01T02:46:00.000+01:00

Next time you step outside, raise ur face to the sun and close ur eyes..
especially if you just stepped out of a cold office, or ur face isfeeling shwaya cold..stand shwaya still, and raise ur face to it closing ur eyes, and feel its warm kisses..
its kisses come in small tickles of warmth in different areas o furface.. ur nose, ur eyelids, ur ears, ur forehead, until ur face is allwarm again..the kisses are especially special lamma yekun a cloudy day and it plays little games, stepping out from behind the clouds to tickle youwhen you least expect it, and just as you get used to it it dissappears again,
and when you start to lose hope and wonder if youlook stupid with ur face raised to the sky, eyes closed tight with a small anticipating smile on ur face... and start to loose ur smile,contemplating walking away...it steps out again, in allll its warmth adn exhubarance, and feathersof warm sunrays tickle ur nose, ur eyes, ur cheeks.. in soft caressing sun-kisses.... :)

3agabeyaty!

2005-04-30T11:31:00.000+01:00

3agaby...

That i CANNOT interview monaqaba women..i just can't seem to penetrate through their faces to their feelings, to waht they're realy thinking..i feel like a number of dimensions just dissappear from the conversation of the interview..and something inside me says, this CAN'T be right.. it can'tbe.

that religious men with big zebeeba's in the field, shake myhands properly and REALY well, while religious men in big corporations treat my hand like it's a piece of burnigncoal, and avoid eye contact like i'm a walking sin

that mothers give birth to their children and then leavethem wtih their parents.. ya3ni a woman left her son withher mother fel balad to take good care of her becuaseshe 'doesn't see well' for years.until the grandmother died.and then the boy comes back withdrawn or montawey, and shewonders why.. with big questioning eyes.. (i met at leat twocases of this in the ten i met yesterday)and when you ask why? they look at you weirdly adnsay "Mahowwa gharado keda.."

Children drop out in 2e3dady STILL not knowing how to readand write.. it's then that the frustration hits them. can you imagine?? This is the case in most communities such as Dewe2a,
7erafeyeen, moqattam.. they can stay taht long not learningANYTHING. akeed they get frustrated and end up working!

In lebanon, Shilpa, teh indian facilitator i was workignwth, that works with working children in india said there\'sno such thing as "I failed at school.." aw "ana manfe3tesh",it\'s SCHOOL that failed you. heyya el mesh naf3a.most of the messed up school systems are in cairo.
the bestschool systems i saw were in Menya and a few places in tehse3eed, where the communities have mobilized themselves tochange it.

i asked a miserable workign boy after we talked about work,his parents beating him up, and learning and reading andwriting and life and future dreams, if he could ask me forANYTHING, ANYTHING In the world.. what would it be..sere7 shwaya, and then he said"Abuya we Umey nefesohom ye7egu..."

in aswan, the children were trying to decide HOW to pick reps from each governorate to represent them in the events..the kids though of voting..one 12 year old boy stood up and said,"El tasweet momken yetala3 wa7ed 7omar bas shaklo 7elw..""Voting can\'t always work.. if your popular you will bepicked.. even if you don\'t realy KNOW what to do, and evenif 2albak mesh 3al mawdu3 awey.."even though he was practicaly the most popular boy there.

One of the kids was giving a presentation 3an shoghlohom felmo7afazat and one of his goals were "Al qada2 3ala el "ana-maleyya" 3end el shabab"all the kids understood it 3alatul.
Al 'ana-maley'ya -- comes from "Ana Maley?" -- apathy :)

When Diamonds Cease to Shine!

2005-04-30T11:28:00.000+01:00

When i was around ten or eleven , i decided i should be playing a stronger role in saving the word we keda, and consequentially got myself involved in a number of activities to do just that.

I taught myself how to recycle paper and started recycling newspapers (and sometimes even normal paper.. which defeats the purpose!), i started doing research on pollution, the ozone and all that was happenign to it, i started doing research on animals that were becoming instinct and prepared to subscribe as a volunteer to a number of organizations that were fighting hte extinction of such animals, and started buying national geographic regularly at around 13 keda..
I also started paying regular visits to my garden; taking pollen from some flowers and spreading it to others, to ensure their survival we keda.. I also started spreading seads falling from trees around to make sure they don't grow in small spaces and suffocate each other like my biology book said they would (was trying to help encourage all factors my books claimed would increase chances of survival and eliminate all factors that would adversley effect plant survival.
I also started preapring little presentations with my neighbours for my dad, my uncles, my neighbours on how smoking was bad for your health.
Also used the same biology book for pictures, and then used colorful posters to make my own diagrams. Over adn above all this, i tried focusing all my school presentations, and writing assignments in english classes, on envirnomental issues, as well as animal rights, and extinct animals we keda.When a bit older i took el mawdu3 a bit further to ethical issues...what type of make up i would buy, what not (depenign on mokawennat.. a certain mokawwen came from whale fat and people were killing whales for it)what type of food.. certain artifical coloring was cancerous and envrinometally unfriendly..i discovered freon that came out of hte fridge and ac was realy bad for ozone, and so ghedebt 3al talaga for sometime, and had problems accessing water and food at others.. as i tried to economize on teh number of times i opened the fridge. (the kitchen windo was right next to it, which made ozone crime rate by my fridge even higher!) Ofcourse fur was a very sensitive topic 3andy, as well as elephant tusks ..
Here ba2a, things started getting a little messy though.
Things like opening the fridge for eg.things like elephant tusks and certain jewlery... if i realy liked ivory should i stop buying it all together (becuase SOME elephants were killed JUST for that) wala should i buy fake tusks.Wala was it realy worth increasing the demand 3ala the tusks aslan.. real or fake..

when a bit older i took el mawdu3 a bit further to ethical issues...
what type of make up i would buy, what not (depenign on mokawennat.. a certain mokawwen came from whale fat and people were killing whales for it)
what type of food.. certain artifical coloring was cancerous and envrinometally unfriendly..
i discovered freon that came out of hte fridge and ac was realy bad for ozone, and so ghedebt 3al talaga for sometime, and had problems accessing water and food at others.. as i tried to economize on teh number of times i opened the fridge. (the kitchen windo was right next to it)
ofcourse fur was aveyr sensitive topic 3andy, as well as elephant tusks we keda..

things started getting a little messy though.
things like opening the fridge for eg.
things like elephant tusks and certain jewlery... if i realy liked ivory should i stop buying it all together (becuase SOME elephants were killed JUST for that) wala should i buy fake tusks.
wala was it worth encouraging demand 3ala the tusks aslan?
fake tusks was a stupid idea. bas i loved ivory. hte fact that it was alive or part of something alive.
bas i just couldn't bear buying it when i found out the number of elephants that were killed intentionaly for it.
tab do i boycott tuna completely, becuase the way tuna fish were finsehd for (using fishing nets) always led to whales being caught.
the whales get caught in the net and they suffocate as teh net stays inteh water for a long time and they are not able to come up for breath.. and so they even have a painful death.
i don't like tuna tab3an and i LOVE whales and elehphtans they are such BEAUTIFUL animals keda.. they know how to love, they know how to live.. so emtional keda, and GOOD.
fa tab3an it was realy easy for me to avoid tuna, make up and tusks.. (i didn't realy like them aslan).
bas i didn't want to be pretentious.
was i stopping these things, becuase that was the way i could save these animals.. wala was i doign it becaue it was easy for me to stop those things (tuna, jewelry and make up) as htey meant nothing ot me and theni could proudly claim my boycotts.
the thoughts plagued my mind keteer, especially when i was realizing that all these animals, i loved so much, were going to dissappear keda keda as what i was doing was realy not affecting statistics..

during this period i also started doing research on the industries taht used children..
in india and other countries the carpentry, that was brining cancer and lung diseasers, the children that were used in mining, fel ma7ager and how their lungs were hardening... and a few othe rindustries where teh children were dying painful deaths..
bardo, similarily they were all thigns that were easy for me to boytcott..
bas eventually i felt that my deciding to stop buying or encouraging these industries was taking me farther and farther away from the cause..

it's the same way (although they're compleeeetely diff topics) i felt about egyptians denying the existance of teh state of israel, or the whole 'la 2e3teraf' principle.. although my stance when i was younger was much stronger agaisnt israel, based on my palestinian freinds, attitudes at home, and my complete non-exposure to israelis.

i felt that my boytcotting waas a form of avoiding the issue, and evnetually made me forget about.. either ny making me feel i was 'doing' something.. or by taking me far away from it keda.
i felt it was more of a passive initiative rather than an active one.

tuna reminds me of the whales. bas i don't realy eat tuna.
the tusks i still avoid completely.
however i enjoy all our long distance phonecalls, even though i know that the waves that these phonecalls cuase, have made it impossible for whales to communicate in the water using sound waves (as htey always used to across oceans) thus leading to their dperession, lack of mating, and death. death not only by hunters and poachers now, bas lonliness and isolation.

i dropped the child labor issue altogether. i decided i could deifnatley play a stronger role in stopping peopel from using the kids.. somehow.
raising awarness ba2a, workign with children, exploding a carpet factor in india or pakistan, mesh moshkella, something had to be done.

at a certain point i thought boycotting was the least thing i could do. bas after sometime i JUST couldn't feel it anymore.
just like i couldn't feel the hunger strikes people did. my dad and aunt went on quite a few during student political strieks when they were young.. and i just could not understood how it helped. it just felt very weird to me keda...

those were the thoughts and decisions of a twelve year old.

when i went to south africa, i learned that kol el massayeb was finding gold in south africa. it brough teh whole world's attention and led to slavery and bllood shet and colonizationa dn injustice.

injustice was the key word.
and i attended alot of seminars nad documentaries taht emphasized how a minieral like gold, that was suppoed to be a blessing was such a curse to the country.
kol ma2sa talked about that. people that lived in the townships had to come to teh city mazluleen as hte only jobs htey had were working in the mindes.. el este3bad kolo can fiel mines.. the children were made to work in the mines.. the gumboot dancing started in teh mines.. alot of sad songs were made in the mines.. people were killed in the mines.. strongest strikes and protests were attempted by the mine workers, mine workers were made to carry passports in their own countries..
it goes on and on..

all this suddenly reminded me of my thoughts as a child on whether or not i shoulod avoid buying or encouraging products that lead to any kind of injustice in teh world..
and i wondered abotu gold. (Again gold was something i could easily avoid) bas the question came to me again, of whether my avoiding gold would stop the injustice.. and once again i felt it did nothing.
i was glad i was seeing how gold was extracted then.. and i felt responsible to find out more about it and about alternative means to findign Gold..
i'd seen alot of movies about children of mines and cartoons as well when i was young..
all that came back tom e aswell..
i thought about it again wheni was in menya and could no thelp but smile seeing children work with their parents in teh field.. it realy warmed my heart how it was done.. and was very disoriented when teh children i was working with would point and say
"Child labor!!" and start saying kalam inshaa.. it hurt me shwaya that they couldnt' see how happy these children were.. possibly happier than my childrne who were living in urban decay and barely seeing lights at the end of their tunnels..
these children in the green fields we were watching were part of projects being carried out in teh se3eet to ensure chiuldren are beign educated in simple basisc, like reading and writing and mathematics, as well as in agrictulral issues to make sure htey could LEARN and still be able to abide iwth family traiditons of pickng cotton or whatever other agricultural activity they did in th field..

om ayman and om meleik, the two wonderful fala7at i made friens with , loved the projects.. it made them feel proud and secure and children being educated rather than threatened.. and a number of their older childrne had eventually pursued college education as well...
and besides all tha the children looked beautiful and brown in the field.. their giggles echoed through the gheith, as they chased each other through tall crops, and the wind kept giving them away by shaking the trees they hid behind.
true, a beatiful site bas still i knew how the pesiticides in the plants were harming these children and how spendign so much time in teh crops was affecting and limiting their futures.
i was aware howeve rof initiatives taking place to help them, bas STILL it made me sad that the children were blind to how beautiful and happy they looked..
that they had narrow minded perspectives even on right based issues..
7atta dee 7efzuha.

Newsweek- 2004 -- Food for Thought!

2005-01-06T11:35:00.000Z

I Came across this....

"A third way for America to reassert global leadership is inthe envirnomental arena. Bush is a great supporter of freemarkets. Kerry supports global treaties such as teh Kyotopact. Without joining the treaty, Washington could focus onepart of it -- the development of a worldwide market foremissions trading -- by talking it up, encouraging USbusiness to participate and helping to ensure that the rightglobal regulatory structures are in place to enhance tehmarkets' effectivenes.Advancing ideas like these would realign America's assetswith its global leadership capacity. Let's hope thishappens, for if American doesn't lead teh world toward peaceadn economic progress, it's hard to envision a viable secondchoice""How Bush could re-establish the American claim to globalleadership by borrowing heavily from John Kerry"
Newsweek, December 2004- February 2005Special Edition -- Issues 2005

Do you think they would take up a leadership role fe3lan? And wehre does this leave Europe?

They say;
"the United states has formidable advantages, : theworld\'s strongest military by far, teh most vibrant economy,teh most inniovative capital markets, the most widely usedcurrency, teh most flexible workforce, teh best system ofhidhger education. AMerican is the only country taht is botha great Atlantic adn Pacific power. It is the mostmultiethnic, multicultural, multilingual society, a hugeadvantage in a globalizing world. The guiding "AmericanDream" of opportunity for all has no counterpart anywhere".

The first part of all that, the economy, currency,workforce, higher education, makes me happy such benefits are pinpointed, becuase it makes me feel, i know exacltywaht i need to learn more about.. both there.. how they got to this exactly.. adn then here, what we\'re lacking in terms of unutilized resources, and in terms of comparitiveadvantage 3amattan.

bas from an anthropological point of view, somethign likethe "American Dream" of opportunity, realy realy annoys me,because it\'s SO fake! I"ve read so much literature about it,by Americans adn gheyr..bas this dream of the promising salesman that grows and has a family in a big hosue, with a wife in teh kitchen withshort blond hair adn the little blond boy adn girl and the dog, is realy too much. and it's done NO ONE any good.fe3lan fe3lan baya3een kalam.
and i don't say it with sarcasm or disgust, i say it factually and with a twinge of admiration. simply because they get away with it time andtime again.the fall of this empire i believe will be a big one. alot ofdust will rise.

if you do get your hands on this copy of news week ( i might recommend it, the topics are good, bas not as well coveredbesara7a)you should also read teh short extract they have of aninterview with the Dalai Lama.
He's so cute. Very modest, very spiritual and very down to earth.
They talked to him about politics of teh situation with the chinese keda, his leadership and the link of al htat toreligion,and in the end they asked him:
"You've been a monk since infancy: now you're 69. What haveyou missed out on in life?"
"I missed this (Pointing down, laughing). As a human being,it is quite natural for sexual desire to arise. But overall,a monk's life is more stable, much simpler. In the family there is endless worry, too many ups and downs. Then when acouple grows old, there is the waiting:
will you go first orwill i go first? (Laughs)
Maybe this is not correct, butthis is the view of a simple Buddist monk."

I was touched he mentioned what he was missing out on, bas iwas SURE that's what they were fishing for, and i'm sure herealized it at the very begginign of the interview.i felt particularly sorry for him when he was thinkign up excuses for it, like;
'when the couple grows old, there's ehwaiting.."
he didn't talk about waga3 2alb the responsibiilty, the problems, the distraction from his cause, the money..he just talked about the emotional fear of losing someone.
'maybe i'm better off not trying it..'
i felt sorry for him.i've always wondered.. almsot asked the monks in stcatherine\'s the first timei went.i always also wondered about nuns and priests..
it can't be fair. and you can't attribute that to God..becuase it's just NOT natural.whether it's the sex, the having a family/relationship.. thehaving children..it shouldnt' work that way. not for anyone, adn definatelynot in the name of God."