As I reflect on the past seven months, recent events of the “Lotus Revolution” have put a radical twist on my perspective of my time abroad.
My immediate reaction to returning to the US (prior to the revolution in Tunisia) was twofold. On the one hand, I was immensely grateful to be back in a country where I could understand everyone and get things done without pushing through unnecessary bureaucracy, but on the other hand, I missed the personal interactions those everyday challenges encouraged. On the one hand, I have thoroughly enjoyed privacy and productivity in America, but miss feeling plugged into a larger community in Egypt. I couldn’t pinpoint any one particularly sublime lesson because I felt that the insights gained were of a nature that is hard to express in words: the way one appropriately acknowledges an individual walking towards you on the street in light of their age, gender and dress, the manners in which one interacts with people in religious, professional, and academic settings, the gestures involved with greeting new acquaintances versus those involved with meeting a good friend. Other than the most obvious issue of language, such seemed the product of my six months in Egypt.
Not a few weeks later came the Jasmine Revolution. With Zine el-Abidine bin-Ali fleeing to the Gulf, the world witnessed protests swelling across the Arab world, grotesque reports of self-immolation, and slogan after vicious slogan hurled at pillars of authoritarian rule, with Egypt leading the charge.
It’s not hard to make sense of how the country has come to this retrospectively, but what remains inexplicable to even the most well-informed insider is the sheer magnitude and intensity with which the Egyptian people have risen against President Hosni Mubarak. Not two months ago I was in New Cairo at the office of the professor of my “Government and Politics of Egypt” class who, as a legal advisor in the Egyptian Mission to the UN, told me bluntly that there was hardly a chance for change of rule in the near future, citing the meek, over-calculating nature of Egyptian consciousness as the reason popular revolution was completely unrealistic. Within my understanding of Egyptian political history and from personal experience, I felt quite strongly that she was making a daring yet sublime assessment; I, too, had developed a sense of awareness to what I considered a collective cultural bravado.
Yet I maintain that nothing short of clairvoyance could have predicted the past few weeks. Clearly, Tunisia was key; hardly did international media notice as the scent of Jasmine became the aroma that awoke Egyptian fury, yet I still cannot imagine that the average Egyptian could have predicted a popular revolution, a “march of millions,” or a week-long siege at the heart of Egypt’s political establishment with such little communication, organization, or figurehead.
In my opinion, the die was cast on January 25th when a YouTube video of protestors tearing down a poster of Mubarak went viral. For decades Egyptians had been careful not to slander the President in public for fear of plainclothes policemen or anyone who might report him. But with this signal of intent, the proverbial walls of censorship and state terror came crashing down, and it would take more than presidential decrees or even brutal police enforcement to take away what rightfully belonged to Egyptians. In short, I believe that in that moment the character of collective Egyptian identity took a fateful step forward. Transpiring events have spoken for themselves.
So what can I say of my experience in Egypt in light of current events? For one, it is much easier to reconcile some of the more frustrating personal experiences I had, knowing that the level of discontent with Egypt’s standard of living was at a level that I will probably never be able to understand. And like everyone else, I am still marveling at what we are witnessing; Tahrir Square was a place where I met with and made many friends, a place where I small-talked with strangers, even the place where I bought a new suitcase the day before I returned to DC (which sits in my closet upstairs). But the most surprising – and certainly most inspiring – thing I have realized is that amidst widespread poverty and daily struggles of which I was ignorant, Egyptians would still, time and again, offer invitations to this unassuming foreigner, point him the right way, and give him warm smiles and waves. The world may draw whatever conclusions it will, but this is the lasting impression that I have.
