The Birth Pangs of Egyptian Democracy. - A Firsthand Account. 2010-2014.

ALL IMAGES BY THE AUTHOR.

??He was no more than 18 or 19 years old. The bounce in his step as he bolted towards me outside the Cairo Museum facing Tahrir Square gave away his intentions of simply wanting to speak to an obvious foreigner. Even as he threw his arm over my shoulder as we walked, I was not shaken, and instead simply returned the act and put mine around his.

"Where are you from, friend?" He spoke clearly in heavily accented English.

"America" I answered plainly.

"Please tell me. What do you think of our revolution" ?

It was just a year or so after Mubarak had fallen. I was present in Egypt for those dangerous and heady days as well, as the streets burned and blood was spilled as a result of the extreme rule of a former Egyptian air force commander who came to power and wielded it with a heavy hand. It was as if the contents of an enormous boiler, its function having simmered well above its operational capacity, were released in one earth shaking blast.

?I often think of that young man as current headlines play across the 24 hour news screens here in the west. Could he have forseen the rise to power of the organized and influential Muslim Brotherhood? If asked then, he probably would not have seemed overly concerned, so elated was he still at the tumultuous events his generation had brought about that are shaping modern Egypt. But it is stories such as his which will be lost, like those of many other Egyptian youth, when the dust finally settles and this experiment in Arab self-rule takes its final form.

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The handful of men in the ramshackle pub at the now deserted, dilapidated hotel stared wordlessly through the heavy cigarette smoke at the screen, seemingly spellbound, watching the feed from Al Jazeera as live scenes of the riots in Tahrir Square unfolded in real-time. Mubarak was desperately trying to hang onto power, and played into the hands of the demonstrators by unleashing in escalating ferociousness the various security agencies at his disposal. Now, the Egyptian army was to be loosed upon the public, the state police and secret police thugs having not only failed to quell the rebellion, but exacerbated it instead. The local populace, like the aforementioned handful of men, had long ago ceased to watch the state-run broadcasting network as it was nothing more than a mouthpiece for the regime. Communications networks were shut down. Cell phones and the internet networks were long gone, as the free and unfettered flow of information and intelligence is, indeed, the dictators worst fear. The anxiety amongst these men inbetween sips of piping hot, strong tea was absolutely palpable. They knew fully well that their future was being molded before their eyes, as well as the futures of their families and loved ones. It was too dangerous to leave the ungated confines of the hotel, and the kitchen was quickly running out of food, and bread deliveries had long since ceased. I had already been trapped there for ten days, unable to leave. The restaurant captain, with a good grasp of English, would usually hover near me at these times, his Middle Eastern concept of traditional hospitality still in force, albeit with a much lessened practicality due to the shortages. Even though my future was not so much at stake, other than perhaps my physical well being should this hotel on the Southernmost reach of the Suez Canal be overrun, I was caught up in the moment as well. So much blood had already been shed, so much loss and suffering had already been felt, I felt the need to say something. Anything. "Please tell them", I asked the captain quietly, "That tonight during my nightly prayers, I will pray for?the future of the Egyptian people." The captain paused, smiled slightly and then related my statement in Arabic to the others in the room. They started, a few reacting loudly, and one leaped from his seat directly in front of the screen and rushed towards me. He embraced me, kissing me on both cheeks, and loudly proclaimed something in Arabic. A translation was not needed, as my efforts were obviously appreciated. Not only that, but I was not allowed to eat anywhere else but at their personal table in the dining hall, with them sharing what little they had with me until the day I left.

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?It was a mere few months ago, and I had returned to Egypt for a fourth time. The changes since the rise to power of the Muslim Brotherhood throughout Suez were legion. The installation of enormous loudspeakers throughout the teeming port city blared out Quranic verses during prayer times, and the number of completely veiled women seemed to have increased exponentially. The educated women of Egypt, those with degrees in medicine and engineering that seemed to be so prevalent 3 years ago with their heads uncovered and outspoken, seemed nowhere to be found. The power was out for the second Friday afternoon in a row at my hotel, and I wondered aloud with a coworker what was going on. The little ramshackle pub had long been shut down, its two billiard tables now silent, after the owner of the inn had received threats from religious factions of the Brotherhood, warning him of dire consequences if he did not. The young woman behind the desk, now wearing a headscarf like all other women I had seen this visit, listened to my question regarding the repeated afternoon blackouts. "It seems so unusual for a country with so many energy assets and energy subsidies to have power issues." She looked at me and did not answer. Her eyes seemed tired, and somewhat sullen. As if she were carrying some burden. Still, she did not answer. It was as if a proverbial light bulb went off in my head. "It's Friday. That's it, isn't it. They are trying to get everybody into the Mosque and away from the cafes." She simply nodded slightly and slowly. As if she were afraid to speak of it aloud. But her eyes said more than any words she could come up with in her broken English.

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As pundits debate the machinations of the form that Egyptian democracy will eventually take, we should not forget the young voices which will, surely, be squelched and trampled by the dangerous direction it is taking now. I can still recall enlightened and educated professionals stating without equivocation years ago that the Muslim Brotherhood would never come to power in Egypt. The Egyptian people would not choose a new dictator to replace the old one. Now that they are in power, it remains to be seen whether or not they will relinquish it under the same auspices they used to elevate themselves. For the future of Egypt's youth, we should all hope and pray it is so.

A coworker (Far right) And I (2nd. from left) Watch coverage of the Tahrir riots in realtime.