مسرح العبث في السياسة المصرية

وجد مسرح العبث السياسي في مصر فضاءاً واسعاً وموطناً وثيراً، يسري بها عن متابعيه، ويضف البهجة الممزوجة بالحيرة والارتباك على أوقاتهم. يجتمع فوق خشبة هذا المسرح الشىء ونقيضه، وتُلبس الألفاظ عكس معانيها، وتتبدل المواقف في طرفة عين، وترتسم مساحة واسعة بين الخطاب والتطبيق، وتختفي أو تكاد رجاحة العقل وحصافة الإدراك. يتضاؤل بؤس عالم روايات جورح أوريل العبثي قياساً إلى لامعقولية الواقع، وتناقضاته الصارخة، ومآسيه المضحكة، ودعاباته المبكية.   

تراجع المنطق في الفضاء العام خطوات، وتقدمت للأمام كل العلل النفسية المناوئة للتفكير السليم، كحمى الخوف، وهيستريا المؤامرات، وداء التعصب، وسرطان الكراهية. وحين تستشري كل هذه الأوبئة النفسية في مجتمع إنساني فلا غرابة في أن تتبدل أولوياته، ومعاييره، ومفاهيمه. فتصبح السياسة مرادفة للأمن، ويتقزم الإعلام متحولاً إلى مجرد أداة للدعاية، وتُجبر المعارضة الوطنية غلى التواري (فالمعارضة خيانة)، وتصير "المصالحة الوطنية" مصطلحاً سيئ السمعة، ويضحى الاستئصال هدفاً قومياً.           

بداية، فإن معسكر السلطة زاخر بالتناقضات، والأمثلة أكثر من أن تحصى، يتصدرها قانون للتظاهر أصدرته حكومة أتت إلى مواقعها بفضل التظاهر، وبينما يقبع بسببه جمع من ثوار يناير خلف الأسوار يتمتع مبارك وبعض مساعديه الذين قامت الثورة ضدهم بالحرية. ثم أن وزير الداخلية الحالي صار لا يشير إلى جماعة الإخوان المسلمين إلا ناعتاً إياها "بالإرهابية"، على رغم أنها هي التي أتت به إلى منصبه. أما المؤسسات الدينية الرسمية فتورطت حتى أذنيها في مستنقع السياسة، على رغم سابق تأكيدها عدم جواز خلط الدين بالسياسة.       

ثمة تناقض أيضاً بين الخطاب الرسمي المفرط في التفاؤل وبين الواقع الطافح بالأوجاع. فبينما يعرب الفريق السيسي مثلاً عن تفاؤله بأن مصر ستصير "قد الدنيا" فإن أوضاع البلاد صارت في بعض المناحي أقرب إلى كوريا الشمالية (التي يُحاسب فيها المواطنون إن لم يصفقوا للقائد بالحماسة اللازمة أو لم يبكوا على رحيله بالحرارة الكافية) من أي بلد آخر. لا أدل على ذلك من أن في مصر – بلد التنوير والعقل وإنتاج الفكر - انبرى البعض مطالباً بمحاكمة دمى وطيوراً مهاجرة بتهمة التجسس، واعتقل طلبة مدارس من فصولهم لحيازتهم أدوات مدرسية عليها شعارات فصيل سياسي معارض، وحُكم بالسجن لأحد عشر عاماً على طالبات قاصرات تظاهرن بالبالونات واللافتات (فيما أفلت السواد الأعظم من قاتلي المتظاهرين السلميين من القصاص)، وشُغل الرأي العام بقضية دور "الكفتة" في علاج مرض الإيدز. أما حديث المسئولين المستمر عن "العرس الديمقراطي" و"الاستقرار" و"هيبة الدولة" المستعادة فهي أقاويل معلقة في السماء بلا وتد، لا سند لها في الواقع، ولا برهان إلا على غيابها.

والواقع أن باكورة عمل السلطة الانتقالية كان وعداً لم يتم الوفاء به. فالبيان الذي ألقاه الفريق عبد الفتاح السيسي في الثالث من يوليو الماضي مدشناً فيه خارطة الطريق تضمن من بين نقاطه العشر "وضع ميثاق شرف إعلامي يكفل حرية الإعلام ويحقق القواعد المهنية والمصداقية والحيدة وإعلاء المصلحة العليا للوطن" بالإضافة إلى "تشكيل لجنة عليا للمصالحة الوطنية". إلا أن هذين الوعدين اللذين التزم بهما جميع من وقفوا على المنبر يومها لم يتم تحقيقهما، ولا حتى الشروع في ذلك، بل صارا نسياً منسياً. ويشبه الأمر كثيراً التزام ثورة يوليو في بيان النقاط الست الشهير بإقامة "حياة ديمقراطية سليمة" الذي أعقبه في السنوات الأولى للثورة انكباب محموم على العصف بالديمقراطية، وإلغاء الأحزاب، وإقامة بنية نظام سياسي سلطوى عاش وأكل على ضفاف النهر وفي واديه لعشرات السنين.     

وفي حين سوغ الفريق السيسي تدخل الجيش على قاعدة أن إزاحة مرسي "أنقذت البلاد من حرب أهلية كانت مقبلة في غضون شهرين"، فإن هذين الشهرين تحديداً شهدا سقوط أكبر عدد من الضحايا المدنيين في يوم واحد في تاريخ مصر المعاصر (يوم فض اعتصامات أنصار مرسي)، فيما بلغ إجمالي عدد القتلى من الأطراف كافة في الأحداث السياسية التي جرت في الفترة من 3 يوليو وحتى 11 نوفمبر فقط أكثر من 2200 قتيل (وفق إحصاء ويكي ثورة)، وزاد عدد المصابين حتى 3 ديسمبر على خمسة عشر ألف مصاب. ومعروف أن "الحرب الأهلية" وفق أغلب التعريفات العلمية هي تلك التي يسقط فيها أكثر من ألف قتيل في صراع سياسي داخلي.

وعلى الجانب الآخر، فإن جماعة الإخوان المسلمين التي تتباكى منذ يوليو الماضي على "الديمقراطية" و"الشرعية الدستورية" لم يُعرف عنها في أدبياتها وسلوكياتها أي ولع خاص بتلك المفاهيم السياسية. فقد كان لمؤسسها الإمام حسن البنا موقف بالغ السلبية من الأحزاب السياسية، ولا يزال موقف الجماعة من الديمقراطية ملتبساً على رغم خوضها غمار الانتخابات النيابية منذ ثمانينات القرن الماضي. كما أن الرئيس محمد مرسي قدم في عامه الكئيب نموذجاً فريداً في مزج الديكتاتورية واحتكار السلطة بالخطاب الديني والمسوح الأخلاقية. أما ادعاء الجماعة "المثالية" الثورية والسعي لتحقيق أهداف الثورة والتصدي لهيمنة العسكر في السياسة فوعود كانوا هم أول من نقضوها إبان تولي المجلس العسكري حكم البلاد، حين أدت مواقفهم "البراجماتية" إلى شقاق مع الثوار، وهجران لميدان الثورة، وانغماس في بحر السياسة وتفاهماته ومواءماته.

أحوال الإخوان المسلمين تنطبق على غيرهم، إذ يعلم المتابعون للسياسة المصرية بعد ثلاث سنوات من الممارسة العملية أن اللافتات والانتماءات الأيديولوجية شيء والممارسة شيء مغاير (أو حتى متناقض)، فالليبراليون صاروا أقرب حلفاء المؤسسة العسكرية، يؤيدون مطالبها في الدستور، ويطالبون قائدها علانية بتولي قيادة البلاد – في ما يشبه الإعلان الرسمي للإفلاس، والتنازل عن الحكم المدني – ولا يحتجون كثيراً على خنق الديمقراطية وانتهاك الحريات. وفلول نظام مبارك وجماعات المصالح المرتبطة به صارت تتشدق الآن بالثورة وأهدافها، وتحتفل بها في ميدانها، وكأنهم صناع الثورة لا أهدافها. وأغلب المثقفين اقترب من السلطة أكثر من اللازم، وانغمس في العمل الإعلامي أكثر مما ينبغي، وانصرف عن الثقافة أكثر مما يحتمل.  

***

ثمة عفن واهتراء شديد في فضاء مصر السياسي، فكل الأطراف مشاركة بكل نشاط في سيمفونية العبث الرديئة، إما بالصناعة، أو التبرير، أو التواطؤ. وإذ تُنسب إلى الكاتب محمد حسنين هيكل عبارة "بحر السياسة جف في مصر"، فإن بحر المنطق جف أيضاً، وبحر الأخلاق صار أرضاً يابسة، إلا من بضع شجيرات تقاوم طوفان التصحر والهلاك. وبينما تجف البحور كافة، يبقى جريان النيل الخالد رمزاً لديمومة الوطن، وشاهداً على تغير أحواله، وباعثاً على الرجاء في مستقبل أفضل.   

د. نايل شامة

* نُشرت هذه المقالة بجريدة الحياة (بتاريخ 2 ابريل 2014).

 

Egypt: Forgotten Lessons, Repeated Sins

Contrary to popular belief, Mark Twain never said that “denial ain’t just a river in Egypt”, but the phrase touches on a truth. Denial is not universally scarce, but in Egypt it is both a river and a way of life. This is quite understandable. To cope with tough times, Egyptians have resorted to a plethora of remedies and antidotes, including denial, amnesia and an enormously creative sense of humor. Egypt’s Nobel laureate Naguib Mahfouz, describing the psyche of the nation that clings to the present, hopes for the future and overlooks the past, summed it up well in his masterpiece Children of our Alley: “The lesion of our alley is oblivion.” The nation with the oldest history, ironically, has the shortest memory span.

But if ordinary Egyptians resorted to these psychological defense mechanisms as a means of survival, their rulers did so out of greed. Generalizations are slippery, but they are not always entirely futile. Based on the historical record, it is no exaggeration to argue that, once in power, the minds of modern Egyptian policymakers are afflicted with a lethal combination of denial, amnesia, shortsightedness, ignorance of history, suicidal indulgence in wishful thinking and surrender to the illusions of power — in short, subordination of logic to self-delusion.

Political leaders are, by definition, supposed to learn from the past and plan for the future, but the wisdom of hindsight and the art of foresight have mostly eluded Egyptian politicians. Obviously, if they assume that the past is meaningless and the future is guaranteed, then in the inner sanctum of power they are only left with the indulgences of the present, authority and affluence. Therein lies their present strength, and also their future vulnerability. Two examples from Egypt’s contemporary history tell the melodramatic tale of its rulers — jubilation, amnesia and eventual downfall.

The forgetful clique

Egypt’s ousted president Mohamed Morsi’s moment of glory was delivering a speech in Cairo’s iconic Tahrir Square on June 29, 2012. Morsi celebrated his election victory that day with his zealous followers, sipping the ecstasy of victory and relishing the long-delayed compensation and vindication for the arduous decades he had spent opposing authority among an outlawed, repressed group, the Muslim Brotherhood (MB). Amidst the intense euphoria, little did he or his cohorts expect that the celebration of the nascent freedom would soon be followed by a return to captivity and anguish, or that he himself would precipitate this fate.

In his impassioned speech, Morsi touched on the struggle of past generations that finally came to fruition with the election of Egypt’s first civilian president after decades of dictatorship and plunder. He rambled on about the “tree of freedom” that had been planted by the generations of the 1920s, the 1930s, the 1940s, the 1950s — but he paused when he mentioned the 1960s, and his tongue slipped. “The 1960s, you do not want to know about the 1960s,” he said.

Morsi’s allusion to the 1960s was easy to understand. The MB had experienced its worst ordeal in the prisons of the late Egyptian president Gamal Abdel-Nasser (ruled 1954-1970). The memoirs and testimonies of the Muslim Brothers who were incarcerated at the time are replete with horrific prison tales: torture of Muslims by fellow Muslims, echoing screams from dark cells and guards whose absence of mercy knew no limits. It was in these wretched prisons that Sayyid Qutb (1906-1966), the Islamist theorist and MB leader, was imprisoned and hanged. These distressing stories reverberated through, were engraved on, the Brothers’ psyche, one generation after another.

Morsi took the helm. But it is one thing to seize power, and another to sustain it. His year in power commenced with great expectations. It ended in a fiasco of his own making. Morsi’s faults as president included power grabs that perpetuated authoritarianism; the pursuit of divisive policies that undermined national unity and stability; the deployment of an extremely poor and unpersuasive political discourse; catastrophic administrative inefficiency; and a lame foreign policy. At the psychological level, Morsi and the clique of senior MB leaders failed to bond with the people they strove to rule. They lacked charisma and charm, experimented with governance like toddlers do with toys, and committed blunders day and night. To add insult to injury, the MB seemed to put the interests of the group above the interests of the nation, giving the impression they were a group in itself and a group for itself.

Morsi seemed unaware of the fact that his popularity had dwindled to a dangerous point by the first months of 2013 — or else he didn’t care. He could have defused public anger in many different ways but he opted for inaction, which in times of crisis is tantamount to suicide. Widespread popular indignation culminated in the June 30 mass protests which paved the way for Morsi’s dramatic ouster by the military on July 3. But the state apparatus did not limit itself to conducting early presidential elections as the anti-Morsi protestors demanded. Instead, it embarked on a more comprehensive change that was premised on crushing the MB, tarnishing the 2011 revolution and restoring the clout of the security apparatus— a swift return to the habits of the authoritarian state.

So, in a tragic irony, Morsi, who had recalled the 1960s on his first day in office, confidently pledging that decade’s notorious ways would never re-occur, became the pretext for the return of its ethos to Egyptian politics. The 1960s’ republic of fear has returned, this time more forceful and more ghastly. Since Morsi’s removal there has been an unprecedented use of (excessive) force against protestors, crackdown on dissenters and stifling of freedom of expression. According to Wiki Thawra, an initiative established by the Egyptian Center for Social and Economic Rights to document the victims of Egypt’s political violence, over 21,317 people were detained between June 30 and December 31, including more than 330 minors (1). Worse, 1,400 people have been killed (mostly by the security forces) since July 3 (2).

The wrath of the state reached its zenith on August 14, 2013 with the bloody dispersal of the encampments of Morsi’s supporters in Cairo that left hundreds dead and thousands injured, representing one of the worst days of violence in Egypt’s modern history. By the evening of that day, the camp of Rabaa in east Cairo (which protestors had transformed into an Indian shantytown) had been reduced to what resembled a battlefield in Syria’s bloody civil war. When the clouds of tear gas dissipated, the magnitude of the tragedy appeared. Images captured rows of corpses wrapped in bloodstained white sheets, wrecked and burned cars, and debris eerily scattered all over. For a moment, it seemed as though a scent of death was floating in the air or that crows were flying amidst the black clouds, croaking the story of Egypt’s failed democracy and ending the power dreams of the MB.

Indeed, in a sense, June 29, 2012 and August 14, 2013 in turn represented the climax and anticlimax of the MB’s brief post-revolution power venture. This fate could have been avoided if only Morsi and his aides had realized that history can repeat itself. It takes no political literacy to know that we are what we remember and that we are condemned to repeat what we forget.

The blind state

The modern state in Egypt, established following the 1952 Free Officers coup, was not only ubiquitous, stretching its presence in all directions and domains, it also bestowed on itself an aura of metaphysical prowess. It thought it was invincible, and it wanted others to think the same way. Because prestige reinforces survival, the state, and its squad of representatives, allies, clients and puppets, strove for decades to make Egyptians believe not only that the system was unbreachable, but also that their own wellbeing was conditioned on the survival of the system.

Then came the events of January 28, 2011, shattering this psychological edifice, perhaps for good. The revolution began on January 25, but its most dramatic and decisive day was January 28 — “Friday of Anger”. Following the Friday prayers, peaceful demonstrators marched to Tahrir Square in the millions, while smaller provincial demonstrations targeted local police stations in Cairo and other cities with shouting, rocks and Molotov cocktails. Around 100 police stations were burned or damaged in the span of a few hours. The scenes were surreal, hitherto unthinkable. Egyptians held their breath as they saw police stations—places they had avoided in the past for fear of mistreatment—consumed by fountains of flame and turned into black facades, atop heaps of rubble and overlooking ruined police trucks.

By the evening, there were no police officers on the streets of Cairo, not even traffic officers. It looked as though they had vanished into thin air, or as if they had been swallowed by a black hole. The army and popular committees filled the security vacuum in the neighborhoods. But the Mubarak regime had breathed its last with the collapse of the police, although its official death was only announced through Mubarak’s resignation two weeks later. Mubarak had finally lost his stick, and no carrots could convince protestors to leave Tahrir, the hub of the revolution, and go home.

But forgetfulness, we must not forget, is the plague of our alley, and it is endemic in the state’s upper echelons. Following the downfall of the MB, the police state again used brute force to quell dissent and restore order — the same misguided methods that had led to the eruption of the revolution in 2011. Old habits die hard, foolish habits die harder. The police apparatus quickly forgot that the activists who called for a day of demonstrations against Mubarak in 2011 had deliberately picked January 25 — Police Day in Egypt. Mubarak’s regime deserved to go for many reasons, but a single cause of people’s indignation was the culture of humiliation sponsored by his interior ministry.

It is easier to forget the past than reflect upon it. It is not astonishing that those who are long on muscles but short on brains are so unaware of the lessons of history. After all, Egyptian police officers seem to be more interested in dominating the country than understanding it. But the velocity with which memories of near history are erased — including scenes witnessed with one’s own eyes — is unfathomable. Thomas Jefferson once said “power is not alluring to pure minds.” Otherwise it can become recklessly blind and deaf, forgetting that plummeting from the summits of political might can happen in the blink of an eye.

The wide-scale repression has already backfired; it is terrorism’s most effective catalyst and raison d’être. The Rabaa massacre and the state repression that preceded and followed it played into the hands of jihadist fighters, who are waging an insurgency in Sinai and slowly creeping into Cairo and the Delta region. It has also alienated the revolutionary youth, who feel that their revolution has been stolen, that their struggle has gone in vain. Let there be no doubt, they will soon rebel again. And although another January 28 is not imminent, it is inevitable if the state continues to act in a way that is out of touch with history and out of touch with morality.

Egypt’s lamentable modern history has followed a circular rather than linear pattern. A single step forward was followed by ten steps back and countless massive defeats were punctuated by meager gains. But the future will come one day. In preparation for it, Egyptians must not forget the lessons and must not forgive the sinners.

Nael M. Shama

(1) Sarah Carr and Leyla Doss, “Too Many to Count,” Mada Masr, 31 January 2014.

(2) Amnesty International, “Egypt Three Years on, Wide-Scale Repression Continues Unabated,” 23 January 2014.

* This article appeared first on the website of Le Monde Diplomatique (English) on February 20, 2014.

No space for a middle place

Egypt’s current political crisis is defined by the struggle between the military and the Muslim Brotherhood. The polarization that has torn the country apart since Hosni Mubarak’s fall in 2011 reached its zenith after the dismissal of Mohamed Morsi in July, and now almost all of Egypt’s political forces side with one or other. On the 14^th of August, security forces dispersed sit-ins organized by the Brotherhood in Cairo, with the worst level of urban violence since the 2011 revolution.

Only a minority of Egyptians are reluctant to ally with either side, the genuine liberals recently important for their advocacy of equality, civil rights and respect for human rights: politicians such as Mohammed El Baradei, academics like political scientist and human rights activist Amr Hamzawy, and members of such youth movements as the April 6, and of human rights organizations, have tried to make a difference, asserting their presence in public space. They have in turn vehemently opposed the regimes of Mubarak, the administration controlled by the army, the Supreme Council of the Armed Forces, the Morsi administration and the current government. Each minor success has quickly turned into a major defeat. Mubarak was removed, but Mubarakism survived; Morsi was democratically elected, then ousted. One step forward, two steps back.

Liberalism is premised on a rejection of theocracy and autocracy, but in Egypt that premise has been distorted, and diluted by nationalist, populist, leftist and religious sentiments. It remains an alien ideology rooted in western political philosophy, and has failed to permeate Egypt’s largely religious society. The efforts of liberal thinkers in the first half of the 20th century, such as Taha Hussein, Ahmed Lutfi al-Sayyid and Salama Moussa, were mostly confined to intellectuals and their insulated theoretical debates. Moreover, the relationship between contemporary liberal parties and the principles they claim to stand for is tenuous. Liberal politicians, in their attempts to accommodate the rise of Islamic fundamentalism, mitigated the founding tenets of liberal philosophy. They refuse to be labeled “secular” (a term Islamists equate with lack of faith), preferring instead the more ambiguous “civil”, and are defensive, wanting to convince skeptics that liberalism is not antithetical to Islam. (All liberal parties oppose the removal from the constitution of article 2, which stipulates that Islam “is the main source of legislation.”)

Only a few who claim to be liberal have refused to succumb to social pressures and political necessities. They reject religious and military fascism in the same breath and to the same degree. They are now as outraged at self-proclaimed liberal political parties, such as Al-Wafd, the Free Egyptians Party and the Egyptian Social Democratic Party, which claim to speak for liberties and human rights, as they are at the military and the Brotherhood. These parties participated in the huge anti-Morsi protests and then fully backed the roadmap proposed by the military. Their hostility to the Brotherhood and Morsi made them turn a blind eye to the worsening transgressions of the security forces since Morsi’s removal from power.

Their stance is easy to understand, but difficult to justify. The Islamists’ use of religion as an instrument to outbid political rivals deepened the concerns of liberal politicians about the perilous mix of Islam and politics. They see military rule as a lesser evil. At least, it is secular in nature and committed to some form of political pluralism. More importantly, secular parties have lost every electoral contest against Islamists since Mubarak’s overthrow in 2011, so the exclusion of Islamists (particularly the Brotherhood) removes a superior competitor. The secular parties’ support of the military’s moves seems to be driven by self-interest, not defiance against the potential threat of theocracy, or perhaps a mixture of both motivations. Islamist movements are all illiberal in varying degrees but they are big fans of elections, their fastest means to power. It is from this distinction that the common phrase depicting Egypt's post-Mubarak political struggle as one between “liberal undemocrats and illiberal democrats” derives its validity.

Genuine liberals are unable to sympathize with the military, the Islamists or the ostensibly liberal parties who use the military in their existential battle against the Islamists. They are also dismayed by the liberal politicians, journalists and activists who have turned into apologists for the security forces, defending their plans, justifying their offences and, when cornered, refusing to discuss the issue altogether. When I asked Nadia Abou al-Magd, a journalist critical of the coup, about Egyptian liberals who support the military, she retorted: “Liberals? You mean fascists.” She thinks political labels and classifications lose their meaning in the Egyptian context: “I keep asking myself: what is liberalism? What is humanity? What is a nation?”

These liberals face today an extremely unfavorable social environment. The prevailing political culture is exclusionist par excellence. Media smear campaigns, reminiscent of the 1930s fascist propaganda, are ubiquitous. Quiet, objective debates are rare, overshadowed by calls for vengeance and annihilation; tolerance is scarce, and attempts at moderation dismissed. Those few voices that call for conciliation are accused at best of naivety, at worst of treason. As journalist Rania al-Malky put it: “If you’re against the coup, you’re unpatriotic; if you criticize the police for the unnecessary use of lethal force, you’re a terrorist sleeper cell; if you question the official line on who killed who [and] when, why and how, and demand evidence…you’re blinded by bias, unfit to be Egyptian.”

Nobel laureate Mohammed El Baradei resigned as vice president when the Muslim Brotherhood sit-ins in Cairo were dispersed. He said in his resignation letter: “It has become hard for me to keep bearing responsibility for decisions that I did not approve of and warned against their consequences.” He was the only voice of restraint in a government led by hawks, longing for a confrontation. After his resignation, his detractors accused him of absurd offences: he had fled the life-or-death battle against terrorism, he was a Muslim Brother in disguise, or an accomplice in a grand US-engineered scheme to partition Egypt.

The current political order is backed by power but marred by illegitimacy. The lethal use of force against demonstrators, the mass arrests of Muslim Brothers, the shutting down of Islamic satellite channels and the re-enactment of the emergency law are reminiscent of Mubarak’s days. These extra-legal measures and the fragile political track endorsed by the post-Morsi regime can hardly be defended in the name of democracy. The military replaced an elected president, Shura Council (upper house) and a popularly approved constitution by an appointed president and government and a constituent assembly with barely any Islamists.

The public mood is, unfortunately, not conducive to the restoration of the constitutional path and fair application of the law. Sara Labib, a liberal writer, says: “Amid the revolutionary fervor that followed Mubarak’s overthrow... all parties have trampled on the law. But you can’t have revolution and law at the same time.” The continuous questioning of the integrity of legal processes and the defamation of judges has produced a crisis of confidence in the legal system and in the validity of the law. So, overwhelmed by an overdose of hate rhetoric, most Egyptians close their eyes to human rights violations, clinging to pretexts such as “they’re necessary to fight terrorism” and “they’re only temporary measures,” or even claiming the Islamists “deserve it.”

Liberalism cannot grow in a barren terrain, devoid of respect for human rights, the law and democratic values. Former Egyptian President Gamal Abdel-Nasser's attempt to apply socialism from above failed in the 1960s. There were no true socialists, only subordinate state officials and sycophant bureaucrats. Today, many parties and public figures raise the banners of liberalism, use its jargon and preach its values, but only a few can be dubbed genuine liberals. Liberalism from below will only flourish when it is cultivated in the psyche of the nation, and when Egyptians renounce the “military-Muslim Brotherhood” dichotomy and replace it with the “freedom or tyranny” classification.

Nael M. Shama

* This article appeared first in Le Monde Diplomatique (English) on September 1, 2013.

 

Understanding Cairo

           Who better understands Cairo? The Islamists who insist on Morsi’s return to power? The secularists who were determined to put an end to his short rule? The senior military officers who are bent on remaining in overall control of the political game? When the guns fall silent and the political process ensues, Cairo's teeming millions, and its influential middle class, will be crucial in shaping Egypt's future.

Cities are not merely population centers, or dots scattered on a lifeless map or names listed in the directory of an atlas. Cities are expressions of cultural identity, symbols of historical processes, hubs of social development, media for transmitting ideas and radiating knowledge, focal points of interaction with the outside world, factories of modern man's anxieties and ambitions, and arenas of war and revolution. Cities are the locus of human activity.

In Egypt, it is Cairo—or, in Arabic, Al-Qahera (the city victorious)—that reflects all these sociological and psychohistorical processes. The 1,000-year-old city has an abundance of complex meanings and sharp contradictions, both visible and hidden, enriched by a long history of fluctuations—magnificent rises and steep declines, glorious triumphs and disastrous setbacks, bursts of enthusiasm and tears of grief. Cairo is a wild yet charming city. Its liveliness is stupendous; its flavor is a blend of Africa, Asia and Europe; its pulse is frenzied but musical; its chaos borders on madness; and, most importantly, its people retain their distinctive wit however great the difficulties. 

Modern Egyptian rulers, however, failed to unravel the secrets of the city, abandoning it at times, unleashing their wrath against it at other times—always failing to understand it. They mistook Cairo's patience for apathy, overlooking the fact that, like all old cities, it is both wise and resilient. It smiles in the face of hardships, bears the ebbs of time with a strong heart, but in response to tyrants, it doesn’t murmur; it shouts.    

President Anwar Sadat, for instance, sought solace in his village house in Mit Abu El-Kom, in Menoufia Governorate, away from Cairo's political traffic jams. Sadat was not returning to his roots in a quest to consolidate family ties or evoke sweet childhood memories. Sadat hated Cairo and its unruly people. The 1970s in Egypt were a decade of vibrancy and volatility. Sadat's shattering of Nasser's policies provoked leftists and Nasserites against him. Cairo's universities and intellectuals' cafes bustled with anti-regime political activities and debates. The 1977 food riots in particular drew Sadat closer to the village and away from the city.      

Sadat's constant emphasis on "countryside values" seemed, subconsciously, to reflect his appreciation of the loyalty and docility of Egypt's fellahin (peasants), against the rebellious and unyielding nature of Cairenes, the vile effendis (men of education) as Sadat habitually described them. Cairo should turn into "one big village," he once said. For Sadat, Cairo was a hotbed of intellectuals, artists and students, who posed a menace to his authority and to the patriarchal society over which he wished to preside. He saw himself as the father of all Egyptians, who were one extended family, and his 'boys' should toe his line; to disagree was rude and ungrateful. In order to punish "infringement" of a vaguely defined and delineated set of "Egyptian ethics and social norms," he introduced the Shame Law in 1980, a decree that has since been cited as an example of political and legal folly.

Likewise, from the late 1990s until 2011, President Hosni Mubarak—and his 'royal' entourage—spent long periods of time in the resort town of Sharm al-Sheikh, far away from Cairo's oven-like heat and suffocating air pollution. His extended stays there prompted his critics to describe the small town as "the president's capital." The time Mubarak spent in Sharm al-Sheikh, in a posh villa overlooking a picturesque sea and mountain view, was perhaps his only way to think of himself as an achiever, a leader whose services to his country did not go in vain. Tourism flourished under Mubarak, with resorts like Sharm al-Sheikh and Hurghada turning into international tourist destinations.      

In the tranquility of his comfortable exile, Mubarak could block out what had become of Egypt in his three-decade rule: a despairing nation; a corrupt and dysfunctional state; a failing economy addicted to foreign largesse, crumbling services, an ailing infrastructure, a population boom (more than a million new souls every year), and a fading grandeur replaced by a pitiable image in the region and beyond. Nevertheless, Mubarak's flight to the periphery did not bring the core to rest. Cairo bent under Mubarak, but it did not break. Eventually, Cairenes flocked to Tahrir Square, Cairo's (and Egypt's) center, to seal Mubarak's fate.     

Goethe said that to rule is easy, to govern difficult. Sadat and Mubarak exemplified the saying—the former assassinated (on October 6, 1981, in a military parade commemorating his "day of glory"), the latter deposed by a massive popular revolution. The fate of both men was determined by Egypt's middle class, the crucial yet ever-neglected force in Egyptian politics.

The weight of this critical mass—comprised of the urban, educated and vocal social segments—in Egyptian politics is disproportionate to its size. Since the reign of Mohamed Ali (1805-1848), it was this class that introduced new ideas to Egyptian society, flirted with Western ideologies, championed the cause of independence from foreign occupation, embodied and propagated Egypt's 'soft power' in the Arab world, and thought about national issues and aspirations. Cairo has been the incubator of all these energetic processes. In contrast, the lower class has been pushed to the margins of public movement and debate. Unsurprisingly, when Tahrir Square was fanning the flames of revolution against Mubarak in 2011, remote rural areas, particularly in the largely impoverished and underdeveloped Upper Egypt region, remained detached and noiseless.

If history repeats itself, first as tragedy, next as farce (as Marx said), then Morsi's short-lived rule denotes the latter. While Mubarak was hated by the majority of his people, Morsi seemed to be leader by accident, underdog rather than tyrant, a helpless stooge of the aging and conspiratorial Muslim Brotherhood leaders, a target of mockery rather than an object of criticism, and a victim of his own banality and blindness to Egypt's realities. Nobody took his threats seriously, and after a few months in power, almost everybody sensed that he would not survive for too long. When Morsi was ousted, most people felt no urge to retaliate, only a sigh of relief.

Morsi's downfall was also partly because he did not understand Cairo. Despite the MB's successive ballot box victories in post-Mubarak Egypt, it was Cairo that slowed down the group's foray into the territory abandoned by Mubarak and his defeated, dissolved party. In Cairo, Morsi lost both rounds of the presidential elections (May-June 2012) as well as the referendum on the constitution (December 2012).  

Morsi visited Tahrir Square only once after his election victory. This visit came on his first day as president, in order to celebrate his victory among his supporters and, in hindsight, to pay farewell to the central square of a city he so quickly and foolishly lost. Morsi remained oblivious to the threat posed by Cairo's recalcitrance until the very end. During his last crisis in power, he reportedly told US President Barack Obama that those who demonstrated against him constituted a minority (only 160,000 people, he claimed), when aerial images taken by military helicopters captured millions packing the streets and squares of Cairo and other cities to demand his expulsion.    

Only Nasser—who clipped the wings of the aristocracy and uplifted the poor, creating a viable middle class—bonded with Cairo. The expansion in education and health services and the establishment of an industry-oriented public sector gave rise to, and consolidated, Egypt's middle class in the 1950s and 1960s. In 1956, he vowed steadfastness against the tripartite aggression from the rostrum of the widely revered Al-Azhar mosque, in the heart of Cairo's old Islamic city. "I am here in Cairo with you and my children are also here in Cairo. I did not send them away [for protection from air raids]," he said, to affirm his loyalty to the city.

Nasser did not travel much during his reign. He was not a big fan of the tourist retreats of Egypt's pre-revolution aristocracy. He stayed in Cairo, and there he died. In the autumn of 1970, Nasser resided for a few days in Cairo's posh Nile Hilton during the emergency Arab summit convened to put an end to the bloody Palestinian-Jordanian conflict—Black September. On the night of September 27^th, on the balcony of his hotel room that overlooked River Nile, Kasr El-Nil Bridge and the lights of the city that never sleeps, he told his friend Mohamed Heikal: "This is the best view in the world." On the following day, he died.

A river of people gathered in Tahrir and surrounding areas to attend Nasser's epic funeral—the same unprecedented numbers who assembled in the same square decades later to send first Mubarak then Morsi a clear message: you terribly misunderstood us and you have to go.

Cities should be defined by demography, not geography. In his tragic play Coriolanus, Shakespeare wondered: what is the city but the people? Had Sadat, Mubarak and Morsi shared Shakespeare's wonder, their fates could have been different. But in the end, the historical pattern repeated itself. The city retained the validity of its name, victorious; and its thoughtless despots continued to be defeated, ostracized and deleted from collective memory.    

Nael M. Shama

* This article appeared first on the website of Le Monde Diplomatique (English) on August 15, 2013.

 

The Perils of Egypt's Popular Coup

The Egyptian military's ouster of President Mohamed Morsi represents a major milestone in Egypt's bumpy and circular transition to democracy. Today, great hopes, high spirits and a sense of relief are prevalent among most Egyptians. The thrills of joy, however, overshadow the many perils ahead.   

First, Morsi's downfall at the hands of the uprising-turned-coup demonstrates that the ballot box, the core of competitive political systems, has been outweighed in Egyptian politics by street dynamics. Indeed, the debate among contending parties now centers around questions like: Which party's protest was larger and which party proved that it could mobilize more supporters for street protests? If Egypt witnesses no quick return to the vehicles of democratic rule, then the street will remain the main (or only) locus of collective expression.

This development establishes a worrying precedent. By reducing a representative political process to mere displays of power that are often sham or deceptive, the fate of a large nation becomes hostage to the percentage of its population that takes to the streets, expressing its choices using marches, shouts and banners. In other words, the well-established democratic "one man, one vote" principle is substituted by the "only protestors count" formula. This takes Egypt one step away from constitutional democracy and one step closer to mob rule, hence alienating sizeable segments of the populace and undermining the legitimacy of the post-Morsi process. It also shifts the attention of political parties away from devising broad strategies and policy postures that address complex political questions to focusing on mobilization tactics, event-organization skills and rhetoric campaigns.  

Second, the revival of Mubarak's authoritarian practices is looming on the horizon. The same revolutionary forces that led the uprising against Mubarak in 2011 played a crucial role in the Tamarod (Rebel) grassroots movement - which collected 22 million signatures demanding an early presidential election - and in the large anti-Morsi demonstrations that took place in the period from June 30 to July 3. Nevertheless, they did not stand alone this time. A broad motley coalition of Egyptians, which included revolutionaries, liberals, Mubarak sympathizers, businessmen with ties to state institutions and even security officers, protested against Morsi. Indeed, if Morsi had succeeded in anything over the past year, it was in uniting these heterogeneous groupings against his rule. 

These diverse forces had little in common, except for their dissatisfaction at the performance of Morsi's government and impatience to see Morsi toppled from power. Now that their goal has been achieved, they will come to a parting of the ways. While the revolutionary forces will continue to defend liberties and advocate social justice, the security apparatus may be tempted to revert to its old ways of doing business. Indeed, immediately following Morsi's overthrow, dozens of pro-Morsi channels have been banned and many Islamist leaders have been arrested. Similarly, state bureaucrats and remnants of the Mubarak regime are geared up to retain their prerogatives and recapture lost lands.      

Third, Morsi's removal from office will not put an end to the instability that has engulfed the country since Mubarak stepped down in 2011, but will rather prolong and expand it. A civil war is not around the corner, but civil unrest is overwhelming and paralyzing the country. What lies ahead is a protracted struggle between the state and the secularists on one hand and the Islamists on the other. Leaders of the Muslim Brotherhood (MB) have so far been defiant to the military's move, announcing that they will not leave the streets before Morsi is reinstated. They have resorted to street protests (some of which spiraled into deadly violence) and, as usual, concealed their political motives behind the mask of religious rhetoric.    

Whether they lost touch with reality or they only aim at bolstering their negotiating posture, the narrow-minded, hotheaded MBs are shooting themselves in the foot. Their outright stubbornness inhibits the reintegration of the MB into the system and invites a security crackdown that, this time, may be condoned or justified by many social forces.      

Fourth, the military's return to domination, albeit from behind the curtain, represents another setback to ongoing attempts to reformulate civil-military relations in Egypt on a more balanced and consistent-with-democracy basis. Civilian control over the military and the institutionalization of politics seem today to be as distant as they have been since the 1952 coup.  

            Egyptians' jubilation at Morsi's ejection was well-deserved. Once again, they asserted their indispensible presence in the equations of politics and power. But the euphoria of the moment should not overshadow the challenges of tomorrow: the transition to democracy is in deep jeopardy, the military is back in the saddle, the forces of the ancien regime are plotting their return to power and turmoil continues to tear the country apart.  

 

Nael M. Shama

 

* This article appeared first in Global Times (China) on July 25, 2013.
* Photo: Hassan Ammar (AP).

Morsi: A Fairly Typical Muslim Brother

           

Nikita Khrushchev once said that "politicians are the same all over," for "they promise to build a bridge even where there is no river." I agree with the second part. While most politicians are prone to making hefty promises and unrealistic pledges, their deeds and fates diverge fundamentally. Some politicians succeed and inspire, others fail drastically, leaving office disheartened and ostracized. Some politicians are forever remembered, others sink into oblivion in the blink of an eye. More importantly, only a few politicians conquer the constraints imposed by their environments, the rest remain prisoners of their own time.

To which type of politicians does Mohamed Morsi, Egypt's first democratically-elected president who was ousted from power last Wednesday, belong? While Morsi's supporters overstated his capabilities, his detractors questioned either his competence or his intentions, or both. In any case, political leaders are predominantly the product of their idiosyncrasies; their policies are rooted in their personas, socialization processes, ideas, and worldviews, and Morsi is far from being an exception.        

Morsi and the Muslim Brotherhood: The Inseparable Bond 

Morsi was born in 1951 into a humble family in the village of El-Adwah, Sharkia governorate. Available information on his early childhood suggests he led an ordinary village life, characterized by enormous economic and social difficulties prevalent in Egypt's some 5,000 villages. Morsi recalled that he used to go to school on the back of a donkey.[1] For Morsi, just like many of his peers, joining the ranks of the well-organized and deeply entrenched Muslim Brotherhood group (MB) seemed like a natural choice. In the largely underdeveloped countryside, where poverty is rife and public services are scarce, the MB has stepped in to fill the vacuum left (or, perhaps, created) by the state. The wide range of charitable services the group provides in rural areas are clothed in the robes of piety and religious righteousness. To be sure, when people are economically deprived and profoundly religious, the provision of material sustenance combined with the soothing lure of religious talk—that is, food for the body and the soul—is the most effective tool to attract followers and sympathizers.   

Morsi spent the last three decades of his life in the womb of the MB. He imbibed at a young age the group's ideology and the values of organizational discipline and loyalty to senior leaders. It was these three decades that witnessed the rise of the disciples of Sayed Qutb's orthodox school of thought to the upper echelons of the MB. Qutb, a writer, Islamist theorist and activist executed in 1966 for plotting against Nasser's regime, adopted a rigid interpretation of the Quran, going as far as condemning Egyptians for living in a state of 'jahiliyyah' (ignorance of divine guidance). Although the current generation of MB leaders discard Qutb's proclivity for violence, they harbor feelings of admiration for him and his ideology. Indeed, Morsi defended the ideas of Qutb on a TV show in 2009, saying that he "discovered Islam from the writings of Sayyid Qutb."        

Morsi was little known at home when he entered the presidential race in 2012.  He was not a shadowy figure in the MB, but was not so influential either. He was rather a typical Muslim brother, rising up the ladder of the MB by means of diligence, dedication and loyalty. The Economist described him as a "quiet and loyal enforcer."[2] Prior to his election as president, Morsi was ranked the sixth or seventh in the ironclad hierarchy of the MB. At any rate, he was outweighed by strongmen like Mohamed Badie, the MB's spiritual guide; his deputy Khairat Al-Shater, the strategist and financier of the group; and Mahmoud Ezzat, a leading figure with extensive administrative experience and influence. Al-Shater was the group's first-choice candidate for the May 2012 presidential election, but following his disqualification by the elections' supreme committee, the MB opted for Mohamed Morsi, then the president of the Freedom and Justice Party (the political wing of the group established a few months after Mubarak's ouster).

Morsi's subordination to the leaders of the MB, particularly Badie to whom he gave an oath of allegiance, posed questions of conflicting loyalties and their presumable impact on state policies. The national interest was frequently relinquished in favor of the ruling elite's interest under Mubarak regime's nepotism. Likewise, many Egyptians questioned over the past year the president's independence and self-determination, and wondered whether the parochial interests of the MB took precedence over the national interest. Indeed, during his year at the helm, Morsi's stances never departed from those advocated and promoted by the MB.

 Morsi's attachment to the MB was in essence double-pronged. Not only was he organizationally and psychologically tied to the leadership of the MB, but he was also circumspect about maintaining the loyalty and support of his broad constituency, namely the rank and file of the MB and other Islamist parties and movements. The growing defiance of the opposition and revolutionary youth over the past months pushed him into intensifying his alliance with Islamist forces, including fringe movements. From last November's tense standoff with the opposition and until his downfall, Morsi had increasingly surrounded himself with his trusted 'brothers,' planting loyalists in the presidential palace and key government positions while excluding other political and social forces. The resignations of ten of Morsi's non-MB advisors (out of a total of 18 presidential advisors) did not alert him to the deficiencies of the decision-making process, but instead deepened his reliance on the MB. 

Heavily influenced by the years spent in the milieu of the MB, Morsi's socialization process was mirrored in his decision-making style. The MB was a secretive underground movement that worked behind closed doors almost since its inception in 1928, and that was legally "outlawed" in Mubarak's three decades of rule. To dodge the state's persecution, its trained-on-concealment members shrouded their activities in clandestineness and vigilance. Similarly, there was hardly any transparency in the policies of Morsi and his government. Unanticipated policy approaches and government plans appeared abruptly, and were withdrawn by the government as suddenly and mysteriously as they emerged. As a result, shady backroom deals and secret agreements between the president and his allies became more significant than official announcements and public speeches.

The MB was Morsi's asset and liability concurrently. His unwillingness, perhaps even inability, to restrain his reliance on the MB (and to convince his countrymen that he was serving the interests of all Egyptians equally) came at a heavy price. After just one year in power, the polarization of Egyptian politics deepened, his legitimacy was undermined, and calls for an early presidential election proliferated across the country, eventually putting an end to his regime.       

Inside Morsi's Mind

A streak of countryside conservatism along with basic religious teaching acquired through a lengthy process of indoctrination in the MB seems to have produced Morsi's belief system. The lack of in-depth philosophical or religious learning coupled with self-imposed insulation from other political and ideological currents led to a simplified understanding of the 'self' and the 'other,' and of complex, multi-faceted political and social phenomenon. For Morsi, the world's nations, political actors and ideologies are predominantly perceived in 'black-and-white' terms, with no shades of grey. Believing that they stand on the right side of history, Morsi and his men saw legitimate political competition through the prism of conspiracy, and accordingly they distrusted, stigmatized, and sometimes even equated with treason opposition to his rule.

If discourse reflects mindset, then much about Morsi can be learned from his words. Replete with popular clichés and misconceptions that jumble politics with ideology and religion, Morsi's discourse before the 2011 revolution was analogous to that of mediocre preachers or demagogic, politically-illiterate politicians. In this discourse, Israel is relentlessly damned, the backwardness of the Muslim Umma (nation) is blamed on external conspiracies and the West is essentially seen through the prism of sexual and moral decadence. While there is a shred of truth in these vapid stereotypes, most Islamists regard them as the exclusive version of truth. Unsurprisingly thus, in an interview with scholar Nathan Brown conducted a few years ago, Morsi "put forward a conspiratorial explanation" of the events of 9/11.[3] In the same vein, in a September 2010 video that surfaced a few months ago, Morsi described Zionists as "bloodsuckers" and "the descendants of apes and pigs."[4] Also, in an interview with the New York Times last September, Morsi expressed his dismay at "the West's looser sexual mores," mentioning "naked restaurants" like Hooters.[5]   

Driven by his need to accentuate the differences between himself and Mubarak, who remained largely aloof and stolid for three decades, Morsi barely missed an opportunity to talk to the public. He presumably broke a world record by delivering more than 50 speeches, sermons and television interviews in his first four months in power. Morsi's passionate and amiable words initially won him sympathy and respect, but his poor rhetoric, full of digressions and redundancy, did not serve him well for too long. If Egyptians wanted Mubarak to speak to them more than he did, they soon began wondering whether Morsi should speak less than he did.

Too many impromptu speeches and gestures can, indeed, be very detrimental to unsophisticated politicians. In a span of just a few months, Morsi made numerous blunders in public that tarnished his image as a statesman. Impatiently glancing at his watch during a press conference with the German chancellor Angela Merkel, adjusting his private parts in front of cameras while meeting with the Australian prime minister, and addressing an audience of scientists with a speech that included seven factual and scientific errors evoked both laughter and fury. Furthermore, Morsi's frequent use of difficult-to-decipher metaphors left his audience both bewildered and perturbed. On one occasion, Morsi said: "If the monkey died, what shall the monkey man do?" On another, he drew a vague analogy between the kitsch classic movie "Planet of Apes" and Egypt's transition to democracy.    

To be sure, Morsi's persona is insipid and uninspiring. He certainly lacks Nasser's charisma, Sadat's flamboyance and Mubarak's caution. Becoming the object of scorn and mockery certainly contributed to Morsi's quick downfall. A leader, clearly, starts losing power when he loses people's faith in his ability to lead.  

Morsi's paranoia of the opposition was certainly aggravated by his heightened perception of threat. As a rule, threats are the lifeblood of Islamist movements, giving their existence legitimacy and bolstering their unity and coherence. If threats did not exist over the MB's 85-year life, they would have likely been created. The tyrant state and its brutal security arm represented the prime source of threat for the MB during the long years of repression. Threat perceptions endured after the group rose to power, only its source changed. To Morsi and the MBs, the agents of the "deep state" inhibited change from within the state, and the opposition conspired against his rule from without the state. Whether real or perceived, these perceptions had an impact on Morsi's inclination to consolidate power rather than engineer an inclusive democratic process.       

Huge normative differences between Islamists and secularists also deepened Morsi's distrust and suspicion of his opponents. Although the MB accepts democracy, it seems to be less interested in democracy for its own sake than in what it can achieve. The violence of the earlier generations of the MBs came to an end in 1965, and the group began to participate in parliamentary elections in the 1980s. This journey from the bullet to the ballot did not entail a complete adoption of democratic principles. The Muslim brothers seem to respect the 'procedures' of democracy (particularly elections) far more than its 'values.' While the former pave the way to power, the latter stand in contradiction with Islamic law. So far, Islamists' attempts at bridging the gap between both systems of references have not been entirely successful, with far-reaching consequences on their stances toward various political and social questions.         

Facing extraordinary political and economic challenges, post-Mubarak Egypt needed an extraordinary president. It is unsurprising that Morsi failed the test of statesmanship; it's surprising how fast he did. His removal from office made him the second shortest serving Egyptian ruler since Mohamed Ali's reign (1805-1848), in contrast to his predecessor, Hosni Mubarak, who is the second longest serving Egyptian ruler in the same period. Then again, there is nothing new under the sun. Over its long and rich history, Egypt has always been the land of striking contrasts and glaring contradictions.       

Nael Shama

* This article appeared first in Le Monde Diplomatique (English edition) on July 8, 2013.

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[1] "Muhammad Morsi: An Ordinary Man," The Economist, 30 June 2012, http://www.economist.com/node/21557803.

[2] Ibid.

[3] Nathan Brown, "Egypt's Ambiguous Transition," Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, 6 September 2012, http://carnegieendowment.org/2012/09/06/egypt-s-ambiguous-transition/drsi. 

[4]  The video (with English subtitles) can be watched here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PcnK3Kiw1Eg

[5] David Kirkpatrick and Steven Erlanger, "Egypt's New Leader Spells out Terms for U.S.-Arab Ties," The New York Times, 22 September 2012, http://www.nytimes.com/2012/09/23/world/middleeast/egyptian-leader-mohamed-morsi-spells-out-terms-for-us-arab-ties.html?pagewanted=all&_r=0