76

Feb 4, 2011

I have been living in Cairo for a year and a half teaching high school, and over that time I’ve come to know, love, and appreciate the people of Egypt, the city of Cairo, and the students and families I work with on a daily basis.

Life is generally very calm and easy. With regularity, we will take walks around the city, visit the markets like the ancient suq Al Khan al Khalili, catch a falucca (sailboat) ride on the Nile River, and enjoy the people and the city without fear. The Egyptian people are generally friendly and helpful; life is good.

Then on Wednesday, Feb.2, I found myself in a living room with 15 expat (foreigners living in Egypt) teachers from the school I where I work. After watching what had become daily conflicts in Tahrir Square, we were discussing what to do.

Some wanted to go to the beach, to Ain Sokhna, where they could wait out the storm in safety and comfort - away from the sound of gunfire and from the fear of danger. Others felt like staying in Maadi, the quiet little suburb south of the center of Cairo where we live; still others even wanted to go to Tahrir Square to join in the protests.

We had been seeing the same reports on the news, watching CNN, BBC, Al Jazeera, and many people’s televisions ran day and night. I was sleeping in front of mine, waiting for every new bit of news about the struggles ongoing in this once peaceful country. With no telephones, no internet, no connections to outside world, we were isolated and alone. Nightly, we heard gunfire. Tanks appeared on the streets. The prisons were reportedly emptied, police had disappeared, images of other war torn third world countries started to enter my mind.

I was thinking of leaving.

Our school – all schools for that matter – had been closed temporarily, with no definite opening date set. There were curfews in place daily, ending around 8 or 9 a.m. and starting anywhere from 2-5 p.m. Grocery prices were rising, businesses were closed, there was no work. Things were not normal.

The protests had continued to escalate, and I had many reports from my Egyptian friends who were protesting. They were expressing their voice and gaining momentum. At each turn, the protesters were emboldened. They were finding comfort and excitement in exercising a right to speak that for almost 30 years had been silenced. I was hearing on the news and reading in the newspapers that the protesters in Tahrir Square were beginning to feel that the momentum was theirs, that they were going to get what they wanted, and that victory was nearly in their grasp. They would not settle for anything less than victory.

The police force was reportedly mounting their own pro-Mubarek campaign. This same police force that for almost 30 years had acted under “emergency laws” which allowed them to arrest, detain, and injure anybody for any reason was promising to take to the streets to quell the protests. These forces, along with other Egyptians who favored Mubarek – those who cited him as the leader who brought progress to Egypt; the man who had raised Egypt to a leading country in the region, one who was at peace with the world; one who had nearly abolished crime in the country; who had brought change and progress to their nation. For these and other reasons they were now promising to counter protest.

Mubarek, to his supporters, seemed to be answering the protester’s requests; he agreed to step down, to change some laws according to their requests, to move on. To the protesters, he seemed to be using the same manipulative tactics they accused him of using for years, and appeared to be buying time to keep Egypt under his thumb.

I know people on both sides of the struggle, and they are all fairly resolute in their beliefs.

All around us, the tension was rising.

Later on Feb. 2, things started to get worse.

Phones started to ring, the images started to appear on TV, tickers started reporting violence, conflict, even death. Pro-Mubarek supporters were pinned in the square, not allowed to leave. All through the night, they were bombarded from all sides by rocks, screams, attacks.

Through it all, the United States was walking a fine line, seeking to keep peace in this “pivotal country” in the Middle East. Policies and statements make financial sense; they make political sense; rationally one can find a lot of reasons for why our leaders were saying what they were saying: it’s in our interest to keep a friend in Egypt. But the protesters were starting to recoil at any foreign support of a government that they hated. “Any friend of my enemy is also my enemy.”

Despite the best of intentions, a line was being drawn in the sand, and I began to understand many Egyptian people I worked with, many protesters I understood and respected, people who were asking for a true democracy, were seeing me on the other side.

People were asking me the impossible question: “What do you think of your country’s involvement?” To answer it in any way would lead to a negative conversation. If I support my country, in many Egyptians eyes I was supporting Mubarek, and keeping them silent. If I didn’t support my country, I would be speaking ill of a nation I love, and this is not good form for any good citizen abroad. Life got hard.

My bags were packed. The U.S. ordered all Diplomatic Passport holders to evacuate, and recommended all U.S. citizens leave. There were flights waiting for us at the airport. Morning news reports showed Mubarek had not agreed to leave office. The death counts were being reported and the violence recapped from the night before.

So in the early morning hours of Feb. 3 I made my way to the airport, and left the country for Europe.