Just before noon the next day, Ashraf and Ikram, along with some of the young men and women, were busy making lunch for the occupiers. Dozens of sandwiches had been placed on the table and they were putting each sandwich into a bag, after which they would add a banana and an orange and close the bag. One of the young people would take a hundred sandwiches and distribute them in the square. The atmosphere as they worked was enthusiastic and merry. Suddenly, the sound of repeated knocking on the window was heard, accompanied by shouts and insults. Ashraf advanced cautiously and looked through the slats of the closed shutters. He saw a group of not fewer than twenty individuals armed with machetes and crude, home-made revolvers and, behind them, a group of boys, who were throwing bricks at the window. One of the men, with a huge body, shouted, brandishing a long knife, “Come out, Ashraf Wissa, you and the whore who’s with you! Your master Mubarak’s not good enough for you, you Coptic dog? I swear on your mother, I’m going to finish you off tonight!”
32
My darling Asmaa,
If you come to my small flat, you’ll find four large speakers that I’ve set up, one in each corner. I can’t live without music. I have learned, through experience, that the best speakers are the easiest to wreck, because they pick up the most delicate sounds. Exactly the same applies to you. You’re a wonderful human being, but you’re too sensitive. The least word affects you and any passing situation may hurt you greatly. You’re not “full of contradictions,” as you say. Everything you have done is entirely understandable, at least to me. You have experienced the nobility of the revolution, so it’s difficult for you to lie. Maybe you felt embarrassed about lying out of fear for your mother, even though thousands of young people have joined the revolution knowing they will never be the same. I feel the same, Asmaa. The moment I witnessed the fall of the first martyr was a turning point in my life. Neither I nor you will ever be the same as we were before the revolution. Everyone who has taken part in it has changed forever. You reproach those who watch the demonstrations and do nothing? My friend, not everyone is the same. In all of history, there has never been a revolution in which the entire people took part. Somewhere I read that if 10 per cent of the inhabitants of a country rise up, change is inevitable. Egypt has offered up twice that number. We have paid the price of freedom and will certainly achieve it. The regime has done everything in its power to abort the revolution. It has shot demonstrators dead with bullets. It hired thugs to kill them in the Battle of the Camel and it opened the prisons and let out thousands of criminals to terrorise the population. We face all the instruments of the regime. It wants to crush the revolution at any price. How did the thugs know where the field hospital was in the mosque and how did they know where Ashraf Wissa’s flat was? Indeed, who gave them his name in the first place? They attacked specific targets based on information from the security services. When the thugs attacked the square, I found out about it from Twitter, so I left the factory and went there. With my own eyes, I saw bands of thugs on camels passing through the ranks of the army’s forces, the officers clearing a way for them. And when we went to the colonel in charge and asked him to stop the thugs, he told us, “You’re against Mubarak and they love Mubarak. Aren’t they Egyptian citizens just like you? They have the right to express their opinion. What about all this freedom of expression you’re demanding?”
I told him, “It’s got nothing to do with freedom of expression. These men are armed thugs who have come to kill us, we are peaceful demonstrators, and it is the army’s duty to protect us.”
The colonel looked angry. He said, “I have no orders to intervene.”
Then he walked away, leaving us to face thousands of armed thugs. The only officer to disobey orders was called Maged Boulis. He fired in the air to protect the demonstrators but couldn’t stop the thugs. Nevertheless, the people holding the square confronted the attack and it failed. Two weeks have gone by, and the revolution is still steadfast. Frankly, I didn’t like your tone of voice yesterday when you asked me, “If Mubarak falls, how long will the people continue to occupy the squares?” Mubarak will fall, Asmaa, and the revolution will be victorious. You want proof? Listen to what happened yesterday. Engineer Yehya Hesein, a member of the coordinating committee, had left one of the tents and was walking around in Tahrir Square when a poor man pulled out an old Nokia mobile phone and asked him, “Do me a favour—will you buy this phone off me, or find me someone who will?”
Yehya questioned the man, found that he was from Sohag, of no fixed occupation, and concluded that he needed money. He offered to help him but the man refused absolutely, which compelled Yehya to buy the phone even though, of course, he didn’t need it. It occurred to Yehya that thousands of the people occupying the square lived, like this man, from hand to mouth, were day-labourers or itinerant peddlers living from day to day, so when they joined the revolution, their livelihoods were cut off. Yehya put the matter to Dr. Abd El Samad, chairman of the coordinating committee, who gave him a sum of fourteen thousand pounds from the contributions budget and asked him to use it to help any of the people occupying the square who needed it. Yehya put a wad of banknotes in the inside pocket of his coat and went to perform the evening prayer in the Omar Makram mosque. After the prayer he visited the tents in the square one by one. He spoke to the occupiers, to make sure that they were really in need, then offered them help. Yehya Hesein spent the whole night searching through the tents and finally went back to the head of the committee with the fourteen thousand pounds exactly as they were and not one pound less. Just think, Asmaa! People who might be shot dead at any moment, who have been prevented from working and cannot find food to feed themselves, but who still refuse any help from their colleagues! This principled position hasn’t been taken by one, or two, but by thousands of the poorer occupiers. How can we be defeated, Asmaa, when these noble people are among us? How can we be defeated when a million men and women are living together in Tahrir Square without a single incident of sexual harassment or of theft, and when they take part together in everything as though they were members of a single family, dividing the food and drink and facing the bullets and cartridges and gas canisters and thugs’ knives together? I will never forget the man who entered Tahrir Square from Qasr El Nil bridge riding a bicycle on which he was carrying a large bag. He was old and poor and wearing a tattered galabiya and had flip-flops on his feet (in winter), which could only be because he didn’t have the money to buy shoes. As soon as he entered the square, he parked the bicycle, unloaded the bag, opened it, and began distributing sandwiches to the people there. I will never forget all of that and I will never betray it, Asmaa. I will never betray the martyrs who fell beside me or the wounded whom I carried on my shoulders. I will never betray the simple people who faced the attacks of the thugs at the Battle of the Camel and who asked us, the educated, to move to the rear, saying simply, “Get back! If we die there are plenty more like us, but you’re educated. Egypt needs you more than it needs us.”
I will never betray those people, not ever.
All this nobility was hidden under layers of frustration and injustice. Then the Egyptians rose up and produced the best that was in them. Never doubt for one instant that we shall be victorious!
I love you very much.
Mazen
33
The meeting was held in the atrium of the villa to which the Apparatus had moved, a large chamber into which daylight penetrated via the tall windows made of coloured glass and the cupola in the glass ceiling. The villa had belonged to an aristocratic family and had been confiscated during the Nasser era, remaining thereafter in the keeping of the Apparatus. Anyone seeing it from the inside could imagine how it had been in the past. Balls had been held in this room. Beneath a staircase that led to the upper floor was a raised stage on which had sat the musicians with their instruments, while the guests danced in the open space and the servants, with their striped caftans, cummerbunds, and red tarbushes circulated with trays full
of drinks. The villa’s historical character lent an atmosphere of drama to the meeting that was to be held at such a critical point in Egypt’s history. The time had been set for twelve noon and the invitees had been asked to arrive at least an hour before that. They had passed through the electronic security gates and their mobile phones and the ladies’ bags had been taken from them (one actress had objected, but a stern look from the officer in charge made her submit). The guests had been warned to use the toilets in advance as, from the moment the meeting began, no one would be allowed to leave the room for any reason whatsoever. Thus it was that, in a rare scene, the stars of Egyptian society, men and women, were to be found standing in a long queue in front of the lavatories so that they could empty their bladders. Once this was accomplished, officers accompanied the guests to their specified seats at round tables covered with white cloths in the middle of each of which stood a small silver vase containing a single rose, the precision of the arrangements having a somewhat military air. The number of invitees was one hundred, all of whom attended, since it was unthinkable that anyone would excuse themselves under such circumstances. In addition to the well-known media figures, there were the major Salafist sheikhs with their white robes made of the most expensive materials, their Saudi head cloths, and their elegant shoes, each holding a small string of prayer beads formed of precious stones. There were the football stars, idols of the Egyptian masses. The cinema stars were the most talkative and fidgety. The front row of tables was set aside in its entirety for the big businessmen. The older ones among these wore three-piece suits and ties, the younger “casual” clothes—shirts and pullovers and slacks bearing the signatures of celebrated fashion houses (the rich often resort to this kind of négligé look, either because, perhaps, they’re sick of formal clothes or, equally possibly, to assert their superiority, since they feel that despite their ordinary clothes they are still distinguished, well-received, and objects of interest to all). The waiters passed between the tables to take the orders of those present, most of whom asked for coffee or Nescafé. An atmosphere of tension and anticipation filled the hall. Everyone talked in whispers about the events the country was witnessing, with the exception of some of the actors, who never stopped trying to attract attention. One famous actress even let out a lascivious feminine laugh that rang through the place, causing a certain embarrassment; many directed towards her looks of disapproval, as if to say, “This is no time for levity!” At twelve o’clock precisely, the door opened and General Alwany entered with his office manager, a young major. They were surrounded by four other officers wearing civilian clothes. General Alwany was elegantly dressed, as usual, wearing a light grey suit, white shirt, and blue tie. The guests all stood to show their respect, and he smiled and said, “Good morning!”
Men’s and women’s voices mingled as they responded, “Good morning, sir!”
He made a gesture and they sat, and he did the same, on the seat prepared for him behind a small table on the stage, and held a whispered conversation with the officers, as though going over the details with them for the last time. He tried to give the impression that morale was high, even letting out a histrionic and artificial-sounding laugh, but his face expressed an anxiety he could not conceal. Approaching the microphone, he said in amiable tones, “Thank you all for coming, though we would not have expected otherwise of you, as patriotic Egyptians.”
The general began presenting his officers—a brigadier and three colonels. Then he took a sip from his cup of coffee and said, “Our time is short, events are moving fast, and we have many tasks before us, in difficult circumstances. I will get straight to the point. Today, at six o’clock, it will be announced that President Mubarak has stepped down.”
Despite himself, his voice quavered. He took another sip of coffee and gazed sadly at those present, who were uttering loud cries of protest.
One sheikh exclaimed, “There is no might and no power but with God!,” another, “This, I swear, is that schism than which murder is not worse!”
An actress, whose face had still not recovered completely from the cosmetic surgery that had left her cheeks puffed up into two little balls, shouted, “I’m angry with the Egyptian people. Instead of honouring President Mubarak, it does this to him? It’s shameful! I swear it’s shameful!”
A muscle-bound young actor who specialised in action films exclaimed, “Even if he has stepped aside, Mubarak is still my president!”
The football players stood up where they were and let out cries of protest, waving their arms about. A famous player known for his rocket-like, long-distance goal shots said, “Sir, with all due respect, who in this country has the right to make the president step aside? A few kids who take money from America and Israel to sabotage the country are going to kick out the president? No way will we accept his resignation!”
The goalkeeper for the national team shouted, “Sir, we should have a march to demand that His Excellency the President stays in his post!”
General Alwany remained silent for several minutes. Then, moved, he said, “The resignation is a final decision, taken by President Mubarak himself to preserve Egypt from harm. Authority will shift to the Supreme Council of the Armed Forces and President Mubarak will continue to be treated with honour and respect. No one will be allowed to do him any harm.”
The uproar quietened down a little and the sound of crying from the actresses’ table faltered. General Alwany continued, “I appreciate your noble sentiments. However, this is not a time for weeping but for work. Egypt—whose name is mentioned in the Koran!—will remain well, God willing, until the Day of Resurrection. All the saboteurs who have taken part in the demonstrations do not number more than ten per cent of Egyptians. The rest of the people have nothing to do with what is happening. This is according to an accurate study. We have in the Apparatus a department for gauging public opinion that gives us the results of its studies as they come in. Everything that is happening is foreign to Egyptian culture. Our authentic Egyptian values raise us to respect our elders and obey our leaders.”
A well-known star of comedy rose and shouted, “Sir, what happened in Tahrir is a despicable plot.”
Then the man turned towards the seated audience and said, “I’d like to know why the army hasn’t killed these kids. Bomb them from the air and rid us of them!”
General Alwany raised his hand to show that he didn’t mean to interrupt him. Then he said, “Naturally, there is a conspiracy against the Egyptian state. We have the names of the conspirators and know how much money they’ve received. We shall reveal everything at the appropriate time and bring them to trial. But we have to acknowledge that some young people have imported ideas that are foreign to our values, our religion, and our society. These young people on Facebook and Twitter have appeared from nowhere, like foreign plants in our good soil.”
“Who invented Facebook? The Zionists and the Masons, God curse them! They want to destroy the nation of Islam,” cried a Salafist sheikh, while General Alwany nodded his head as though in agreement. Then he resumed, “We have put in place a plan to save the country from chaos, and I have invited you so you can join us. Each one of you will carry out his mission in his own field. Egypt, today, is in need of you all.”
“We are all at your command, sir!” cried out a celebrated footballer, known as the Rock of the Defence.
A variety of enthusiastic voices around the room responded with approval. General Alwany said, fervently, “This is what we expected of you. I came to welcome you and explain your mission. Meetings with the officers will follow. Each group of you has a designated officer who will assign you your specific tasks and review the group’s performance.”
“May we know the nature of the tasks that are asked of us?” enquired a well-known businessman who was over seventy. The general looked grave.
“The tasks are varied but all of them need money and effort. We face a true war, intended to de
stroy Egypt from within. Wars of this kind are called ‘fourth-generation wars.’ Under these circumstances, we cannot abandon the minds of the Egyptians to the tendentious rumours spread on Facebook. What is asked of our patriotic businessmen is that they play a role in protecting people’s awareness.”
The general fell silent, as though arranging his thoughts. Then he looked at the businessman and continued, “We will task you, and your colleagues, to open media outlets in all their forms—television and radio stations and newspapers and internet sites. We have to regain the initiative. Our duty is to spread awareness among Egyptians so that they are empowered to scotch the conspiracy. These projects will cost you a great deal of money and will bring you no financial gain. They will, however, save the country. I’m certain you won’t hang back.”
“Naturally, sir,” the businessman said, “each of us will take part, according to his capacity.”
General Alwany was alive to the hidden meaning in the man’s words, so he asked him earnestly, “What do you mean?”
“I mean we shall do what we can. ‘God does not charge a soul with more than it can bear.’ ”
“It seems you didn’t understand what I said,” General Alwany said. “I’m telling you this is a national duty and we can’t waste time.”
The businessman responded, “I only said, each according to his means.”
The general’s face darkened and he said in decisive tones, “We know everything about your means. We have complete data on every one of you. You will carry out what we ask of you in full. There is no room for refusal. Egypt is your country and she’s been good to you and given you all your wealth. If the Egyptian state falls and the saboteurs take power, your wealth will be confiscated and you’ll be thrown in prison.”
The Republic of False Truths Page 21
