مرثية محمود في محمد محمود

محمود المصري"

مات من لا يستحقون الومت

"لأجل من لا يستحقون الحياة

(مستشفى الميداني بمحمد محمود)

مرثية

غضبان

وجاني صوت

من قلب قلب...الموت

غضبان وبيعاتب

يا قلبكم

وعرفت إسمه

من قلب قايمة...أسامي

كذبكم

مع إنكم

قاتلينه...إنتو

بصمتكم

سلطان

يوسف حسين

يا نجمتين...ضي من قلب السويس

يا فرج...ياعويس

يا كل الشهدا...يا ولاد بلدي

يا ناقشين سعادتي..بدمكم

إكمنكم

أصدق

وأشرف مننا

طول عمركم

......

سير يا نسيم الصبح...نار

ما تهدي

وأعصر جراح...قلبنا

لفلف ودور...في البوادي

وإحكي حكاية عمرنا

طفي النور يا بلدنا

يا بلدنا طفي النور

وأمضغي صبرك يا بلدنا

يمكن...

نهب...نثور

نفرش عضانا نهار

تتحني بيه...وتمدي

سير يا نسيم الصبح

نار ما تهدي

السويس، يوليو ١٩٦٩

الكابتن غزالي

Why a bloody Cease-fire will never work! هدنة إيه؟؟

On thursday night as matters continued to escalate, the lines of central security forces multiplied (a sight i had not seen since last year), the tension in Mansour mounting, eventually the dull bang of tear-gas shots, the vespas, the ambulances, the sirens the young men carried unconscious, it was time for that difficult point in every Mohammed Mahmoud. Convincing my grandmother she had to leave.

Living in falaki has meant her ability to be at the heart of the revolution, constantly reporting the movement of baltageyya from Abdin; nudging her neighbour Esmat, and armed with their vegetable shopping sacks (allibys for when they are caught by the army/CSF -depending on phase of the revolution-and escorted home) as they investigate the scenes of the crime.

By night-fall it was clear she would not be easy to convince, and by midnight, the challenge became not to convince her, but actually make it to her apartment past mohammed mahmoud.

We spent the night with her, and perhaps more difficult than managing the adrenaline and the tear-gas on the back ends of the battle-field, and more frustrating and heart aching than follow events from afar, was actually hearing everything unfold, without actually being part of it.

The shooting was almost endless from the moment we made it up to her apartment a while past midnight, till around 11 am, when we found the right moment to evacuate her.

The sounds of the constant tear-gas shots, and the emptier clang of rubber bullets, with the occasional sirens was not unfamiliar. Nor was the metal clanging and echoing chants that trickled through the thickest clouds of teargas and grew louder and louder until they rocked your very being. This time last year the battle was clear, this time this year, listening to it in a house where you could only wait, breathing minimally, for the teargas to settle, listening intently, willing the chants to pick up again, it was terrifying...

It wasn't only the sounds of the insistent firing that shook me, but the realization in the intensity of the chanting, the resilience despite loosing count of tear-gas shot per minute, that this was not ending anytime soon.

On the 28th of January, and after we defeated the CSF forces in almost every governorate in the country, the ministry of interior (and thus the entire police state) evacuated. They imagined they would punish us. Instead, it made of that uncertain moment of upheaval, a revolution.

The popular committees sprung up to protect popular institutions, manage local communities, organize traffic, and continued to develop socially and politically governing us through our revolutionary statelessness.

As the police trickled back, and the power balance was negotiated - they returned as police, but not a state - they were monitored in several communities where they returned. In hadaye' el qubba, Police men who were drug dealers were filmed and shamed, reported to human rights organizations and the ministry of interior incessantly till they were changed. In Boulaq, thousands staged a sit-in minutes after a woman was harassed by a police-man in the local souq. Within an hour of the event, the officer in charge of the station had to make a public apology.

But our days of upheaval were numbered, as 'order' made its way back, straightening out all those wrinkles where we experimented with new forms of governance, accountability, and keeping the state, in all its forms in check.

By May police men were threatening families of martyrs; in a 'popular conference' in Imbaba families came up to speak of the various threats made to them. Some were threatened with their lives, others with those of their remaining children, the luckier ones, who had stronger cases against members of the ministry of interior were offered money, apartments, cars, for their silence.

One farcical court session after another, it was clear that the people who had made the greatest sacrifices to liberate themselves from police-oppression; their flesh and blood; would still be the ones to pay the biggest price. They lived the lives most difficult negotiating space and livelihoods under a police-state, gave their lives to have their families live free of it, and continued to live in terror and oppression, under both the military and police state.

THat night at my grandmothers', and in those moments (literaly moments) when the firing stopped, a lone voice would start chanting against the cordons of security before him. He would start with the government; 'Ya hukuma ya weskha...ya m3arassa..' ; You dirty, pimp of a government...

Then he would move on to the soldiers, giving each of them, a clear and detailed state of his mind, and how he saw them.

My initial reaction to the taunting was that he was clearly provoking them. That this would never end. I whimper for him to stop, lest they start shooting again.

But by the next round of taunts i saw it differently. He wasn't taunting them. He was finally face to face with the bastards who killed his brother, his father, his neighbor or his cousin. Or those who, before the revolution, framed or implicated him in a drug deal he had nothing to do with and kept him in prison for months. Or those who tortured him for years on end in a prison cell for a crime he did not commit. Or those who raped his father for daring to stand up to them, when an officer slapped an old man in the middle of his neighbourhood.

ALl the instances i had myself heard or been exposed to of people arrested, framed, jailed, incarcerated, tortured, for no reason - not that any can ever justify- flashed before me. And for a very brief moment, i would want to burst out into the balcony, not to shout at him to stop and step back, but to scream in his same direction; Aywa 7okuma weskha! Aywa 7okuma weskha!!

On what basis do we expect this to stop?And what the fuck are we negotiating??

That parliament 'CONVINCE' the police and central security forces, to please stop slaying us publicly and return to their standard practice in every neighborhood in the country?And knowing fully well that from time to time, when the neighborhoods are too tight, and the prisons are full to the brim, that they can move on to larger massacres in stadiums???

The ministry of interior has never been as criminal and audacious - the killing is now public an the victims of cold blooded murder - QATL 3AMD are down to 13 years of age!!!

And we, as activists and politicians, expect a PEOPLE that have risen in REVOLUTION against a BLOODY police state, to sit back and watch things unravel, waiting for us to 'EMBARRASS parliament' into taking some sort of action?

The one thing that happened simultaneously in all of Egypt on the 28th of January (naturally earlier in Suez, where the state has lost its primacy ages ago) was that the police stations burned. We haven't been able to ascertain whether this happened from 'inside' or 'outside' the stations, but the one thing no one doubts is taht we all put a happy penny in it.

Delirious, and half panicked, i asked a man in Alexandria, why the fuck we were setting all the police stations on fire? "Isn't this a revolution for dignity? One against humiliation? And would you deem it wiser to leave the capital of ultimate humiliation spared... wala burn it, and put an end to this forever..."

We all have issues to settle with the dakhleyya. On events such as these the anger will be wide-spread, and it is clear to everyone that the issue is not with the police-stations, but the ministry of evil itself. And that is where we will all head. Not only demanding justice for those who died at this moment, but for every moment over the last 50 years experienced under its rule. People will come down to shout, to roar, to taunt, and to let it know, that this revolution is only big enough for either of us.

To think we can demand a cease-fire and that this would end the bloodshed, is pushing the problem even deeper. Because the police will return to their practice unseen, until it is time for the next big massacre, or until people decide they can take the blood, and incarceration no longer.

And then the issue will be much larger than the throwing of stones, and taunting of officers.

We grew up a generation under an emergency law, and we rose against the police-state. What's happening in Mansour, is a revolution cotninued. We either heed it, and demand this end now, or we throw ourselves in a perpetual cycle of violence, of a police-state raging to stay in power, and a people who will take it no longer. What stability, peace do we anticipate without justice?

LIke everything that we need to do now, the solution has to be revolutionary. A detailed plan (that we already have) for the restructuring of the ministry of interior. And a shadow ministry composed of those who carried this revolution through, to make sure this happens.

Under what political will you ask? Under ours. Why the fuck are we still asking those we rose against to change their ways?

أجيال عاشت حياتها في ظل قانون الطوارئ. كفاية.

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

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

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..

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

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

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

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