The Republic of False Truths

by Alaa Al Aswany

  Don’t believe any rumours or anything that’s said about strife between Christians and Muslims until you’ve checked out the source because it’s a dirty game now and you can’t take anything for granted. The Council of Shame has been transformed from criminal to victim and gained the sympathy of most Muslims who don’t know the truth of what happened. It’s also gained the sympathy of many Christians who opposed the march and thought it was a mistake and that the types that went on it deserve what they got!

  Publish any information or stuff from the media that can make it clear to everyone what really happened. And pray that this nightmare of the soldiery comes to an end before Egypt is destroyed.

  Don’t make things worse and fight with one another, for the sake of the people who died today chanting “In Peace! In Peace!”

  May God have mercy on the soul of every hero who became a martyr today and protect our blessed country from ruin!

  TESTIMONY OF MAHMOUD EL SAYYED

  First, let me offer my condolences to the families of the martyrs and mourn all our Egyptian martyrs. I think of them as martyrs in God’s eyes.

  Second: This is a testimony, not an analysis, meaning that I’m telling only what I saw, without analyses or inferences.

  Testimony

  The day of the march I was at work and following the march on Twitter from the moment it moved out of Shubra. At the Shubra overpass, they were attacked by thugs and Our Lord protected them and they kept going and while all this was going on I was following on Twitter. They told people to cross over to the Al-Ahram building on Galaa Street and that everyone should join up with them. I thought, Shame on you, you ought to take part in this march, I’ll go down and meet up with them at Abd El Men’em Reyad Square. I thought, it’s unacceptable for me to be in solidarity with their cause and always making a fuss while just sitting at my computer. My conscience told me, Go, kiddo, even if it’s only for half an hour and you just put in an appearance; at least I’ll be in sync with myself and my principles. So, I went down and got a taxi. I left my car behind and didn’t even have my wallet on me. I wasn’t going to Tahrir or setting off on some big demonstration.

  Anyway, I went down and got to Ramses Hilton and saw the numbers were large and that they’d reached the TV building. And as I’d expected—after all, it was Christians who were demonstrating—everyone was super well behaved and carrying signs and crosses and candles. I took a candle and walked for a little in the middle of the demonstration to have a look. The demonstration was full of Muslims and people banging drums and girls and ladies and women wearing headscarves. I got as far as the Corniche at the shop that sells spectacles next to RadioShack and someone took my right hand, just like that. I looked and found a young man smiling the “We’re All One Hand” smile at me, so I smiled back and walked with him. The kid was walking and holding my hand as though to proclaim a position. I mean, he didn’t ask me who are you and I didn’t ask him and he didn’t ask me are you a Muslim or a Christian and I didn’t ask him. There was a priest on a truck that was full of sandwiches. He kept saying Kyrie eleison and we kept repeating after him Kyrie eleison—Lord, have mercy upon us!

  Suddenly I heard a lot of shots and the voice of a woman screaming and there was turmoil around me. The kid pulled me towards the pavement because everyone was running in panic and I couldn’t understand what was going on and I was terrified because the sound of the shots was coming from every direction. All of a sudden I found that my hand was being pulled downwards. I looked at the kid and saw his leg was giving way and there was a bullet in the right side of his head. It had almost come out the other side and the kid started to stagger and fell in a heap on the ground and he looked up at me with a look of incomprehension at what was happening, a look like, Okay, so I’m dying, but why and how? A look of incomprehension at death itself. At first I thought he was looking at me but when I went over it in my mind later I discovered that he was looking up at Our Lord. I was just in his way. His look didn’t contain any anger or sadness. It was just incomprehension and astonishment and questioning and half of a smile. I swear to God, I have no idea whether the kid was a Christian or a Muslim. I hadn’t found an opportunity to ask him. He wasn’t wearing a cross and I didn’t notice whether there was a cross tattooed on his hand or not because I wasn’t focusing on that. All the time, he was holding my hand. Then he calmly let go of my hand and collapsed completely onto the ground with his eyes open. I was so stunned, I knelt down next to him and kept shaking him and saying, Snap out of it! Snap out of it! A few people came and looked at me and said, What are you talking about, snap out of it? Just help us carry him. We carried him over the ground and when I looked to the left in the direction of the television building, I saw people milling around everywhere like ants and scattering. Why? Because an armoured personnel carrier was coming at us like a mad thing or like the driver was drunk and not in control of his movements. This carrier was coming towards us so fast that, after we’d all lifted the boy off the ground, without thinking we put him down again and ran. Have you ever seen anything less dignified than that? Do you know what a man feels when he runs and leaves behind someone who’s dead or injured? Runs for his life because he’s afraid for his life? It’s demeaning, and real men will understand what I mean.

  I was one of those who ran towards the Nile. Gas had filled the air and I was crying, I don’t know if it was from the gas or because of the kid who’d died or for myself or for the whole thing. When I think over it again, I can see with my own eyes the quantity of body parts that the carrier left behind it—intestines and brains and a pair of legs and half of a human being. I saw all those. But what was more horrible was that I saw people running and stepping on those remains in their panic. No one was thinking. Everyone was trying to save his own life. Do you know what it means to see the corpse of a martyr in front of you that keeps being subjected to indignity and trodden on and turning and moving because people are running over it and stepping on it and no one is thinking about looking down?

  I kept moving back till I got to the National Party headquarters and saw people on top of the October bridge throwing bricks at the people beneath. It looked like a war zone with people screaming and people running back underneath, and I noticed people running after the personnel carrier which had been crushing us a little while before as it came back after it had finished its round.

  I was running in the other direction and I went back to my workplace. I want to say that if I’d been killed that day, no one would have known, and I wouldn’t have shown up because I went out without my ID. I might even have ended up as one of those martyrs that they bury without a name in the common charity graves. My question is the same as that of the kid who died and who became my dearest friend even though I don’t know his name to begin with: Why did it happen? If anyone knows the answer, kindly be so good as to inform me, and thank you.

  End of testimony

  52

  How was Nourhan able to keep a cool head in this difficult situation? The only explanation is that, as a reward for her piety, Our Lord, Great and Glorious, inspired her with wisdom and steadied her heart. Hagg Shanawany was naked and she was naked. She quickly put on a dress and flat-heeled shoes, did her hair in a rush, then brought fresh underwear and clean pyjamas for Shanawany, exerting considerable effort to get him into them. His body was stiff, the muscles rigid. She moved his legs, lifting them with difficulty, and it took a further effort to lift his body and rest it against the headboard. About half an hour was needed to make Hagg Shanawany look like a man sleeping normally in his pyjamas on his bed. After this, she opened the wall safe and took out the contract of marriage and thirty-two pieces of jewellery with which she was thoroughly familiar. She counted them one by one and put them in a large Boy Chanel handbag. God inspired her to take these precautionary measures for an important reason: Hagg Shanawany was married to two other women and had grown children who exercised significant influ
ence within the state, and she was aware that her marriage to him had displeased many. It was perfectly possible that someone would steal the marriage certificate or the jewellery (of which twenty pieces had been bought by Hagg Shanawany alone). Once she’d set her mind at rest by placing the certificate and the jewellery in her bag, which would never thereafter leave her side, she moved on to the next step and phoned Shanawany’s private doctor, screaming, “The hagg came back from work, had lunch, and told me, ‘I’m going to sleep a little.’ When I woke him I found he was…”

  Nourhan couldn’t finish the sentence because she was weeping and screaming, “Hagg, get up! Answer me, Hagg!”

  After a few minutes, the ambulance arrived and with it the doctor (who lived close to them in the Settlement). The doctor forced Nourhan to swallow a tranquilliser because she wouldn’t stop screaming and crying and trying to slap her face, which the servants and paramedics tried to prevent her from doing so that she wouldn’t hurt herself. The doctor gave Shanawany a thorough examination, then drew the curtains, and announced happily, “The hagg is alive, thank God!”

  She approached and exclaimed, “Doctor, I beg you, do something for him! I kiss your hands! I have no one in the world but him!”

  The hagg was transported in a specially equipped ambulance to a military airport about a quarter of an hour from the villa, where there awaited him an army helicopter equipped for emergency medical assistance that had been sent by the head of the armed forces when his office informed him of what had happened. This took him to the Army Hospital, the most efficient and the best equipped in Egypt. In the helicopter, Hagg Shanawany had responded to first aid, opening his eyes and saying “Aaah!” in a weak voice. Much moved, Nourhan exclaimed joyfully, “God save you from any more ‘aahs,’ my darling!”

  Following exhaustive tests, which took place immediately upon his arrival, the doctor stated to Nourhan that the hagg had been exposed to some extreme exertion. Then he asked, in a low voice and with a tentative smile, “When you found him, Madame, had he fallen ill on his own?”

  Nourhan ignored the doctor’s sceptical look and said in a loud voice, “Yes. I went into the room and found him, poor thing, just the way you saw him.”

  The doctor made no comment and simply assured her that the hagg needed a week’s rest in the hospital. Nourhan now conducted herself as a Muslim wife should: she asked the doctor to inform his first wife and his children while she withdrew to her house after having instructed the doctor to summon her at the appropriate time. News of Hagg Shanawany’s presence in the hospital spread, and his room, and the corridor leading to it, filled with bouquets of expensive imported flowers, while such large numbers of people came to pay him visits that the doctor was forced to forbid all visits whatsoever, except, of course, those by important personages. Thus, the supreme commander of the armed forces was pleased to make Hagg Shanawany a personal visit, after which General Ahmad Alwany, the members of the Military Council, and the ministers of the cabinet all did so too. Likewise, the Supreme Guide of the Muslim Brotherhood visited him, with two members of its Guidance Office. A week later, as predicted by the doctor, Shanawany’s condition had improved, though his face was still pale and his movements difficult and restricted. All the same, he insisted on attending, even in this state, the meeting called by General Alwany for the media group. Shanawany was accompanied by his doctor, whom he asked to remain outside the meeting room as a precaution should he be overcome by fatigue. The meeting was in the same large room in which the meeting on the president’s resignation had been held. What a difference there was between this day and the day of Mubarak’s resignation! Today, General Alwany seemed calm and confident. All the prominent media personalities, owners of private channels, and high state media officials had been invited. About fifty people had been seated at the round table, while General Alwany sat alone on the dais with, at his side, the major who directed his office, who stood throughout the meeting and left the room from time to time, returning to whisper news to His Excellency the General or receive instructions. Turning to Hagg Shanawany, General Alwany said affectionately, “First, I’d like to congratulate Hagg Shanawany on his recovery.”

  Friendly whispers ran through the room and Hagg Shanawany smiled and weakly raised his hand to acknowledge the people sitting at the table. General Alwany went on, looking at Nourhan, who was seated next to her husband, “Second, I must acknowledge you, Nourhan, for your mighty efforts at the Authentic Egypt channel. Are you aware that the monitoring services say your programme now comes first in the whole republic in number of viewers?”

  Nourhan smiled shyly and nodded but the general continued enthusiastically, “The fact is, everyone, Nourhan is an example. It isn’t enough for her just to carry out instructions, she comes up with her own ideas for raising people’s awareness. You ought to be director of programming.”

  Whispers and laughter ran around the room and Nourhan said, in meaningful tones, “For that job you need a backer, sir.”

  Everyone burst out laughing and the general, looking at Shanawany, said, “I’ll be your backer. See to it, Hagg Shanawany.”

  “Most willingly.”

  “So that’s it. Congratulations, Nourhan. You’re now director of programming.”

  Laughing comments rose, some of those present congratulated Nourhan, and an atmosphere of bonhomie filled the place. General Alwany continued in his good mood, beginning his speech by saying, “Before I tell you the reason for this meeting, I’d like to talk to you about the apparatus of which I have the honour of being the head. Officers of the Apparatus are not simply security men. All of us have studied psychology and sociology and many officers have degrees from major universities. We are all patriotic Egyptians, and here let me be frank. Our people are ignorant and backward. Most Egyptians have no idea how to think for themselves. The Egyptian People is like a child: if you leave it to decide for itself, it will do itself harm. The media in Egypt has a different role to play than in developed countries. Your task as media specialists is to think for the people. Your task is to mould the brain of the Egyptian and form his opinions. After a period of effective media influence, the people have come to regard whatever the media says as the truth. If you say so-and-so is a thief, he is a thief. If you say so-and-so is a hero, people believe he is a hero. I do not belittle the people. I am a son of that people. I am talking to you about the formation of the Egyptian character. The ordinary Egyptian is a simple man who keeps himself to himself. His only desires in life are to eat, raise his children, watch football, and, on Thursdays, smoke a couple of puffs of hashish or drink a beer and have sex with his wife.”

  Laughter broke out around the room and General Alwany laughed too, but he went on to say, “Isn’t that how it is? The Egyptian never thinks about anything more than that. Food, family, football, and sex. The ruler of Egypt has an aura of respect and a position that is unlike that of any other ruler in the world. The Egyptian will never rebel against his ruler. Do you know why the January conspiracy succeeded at first? Because some kids created their own media. All the issues that got people excited began on Facebook and Twitter. That was our mistake as a state, and we’ve learned our lesson and rectified our errors. What I’m trying to say is that the task that has been placed on your shoulders is large. You are shaping how Egyptians think during a difficult period. Imagine: if you hadn’t covered the Maspero incidents so well, what might have happened to the country? You are leading the defence of the Egyptian state. You are like the artillery in a war: it has to soften things up with a heavy bombardment before the infantry moves forward. I could have all those kids who betrayed the country and created the January conspiracy arrested in a single night, but the media has to discover them first. They have to lose any support among the people. The people has to hate them and, when I seize them, the people has to rejoice. I have called you together today to tell you that, in the coming period, the Egyptian state will enter in
to violent confrontations with the saboteurs. What happened at Maspero was just a beginning. All our options are open and we will need your support more than ever.”

  53

  Dear Mazen,

  If it weren’t for your words, which I recall whenever I need to feel hope, I wouldn’t have been able to bear one hour of what I went through yesterday. I’d spent the day with the families of the Maspero martyrs at the Coptic Hospital. I smelled death. I became aware, yesterday, that death has a smell. I can’t describe it but I’ve come to know it—a heavy, black, gloomy smell. I saw the martyrs whom the Egyptian army’s personnel carriers had run over. I saw a girl hugging her fiancé, whose head had been crushed, extruding the brains. I saw a mother bending over the body of her son, whose upper body the carrier had totally flattened. Can you believe that Mr. Ashraf, despite his experience of life, collapsed and wept like a child? He was unconscious until the doctors revived him. Despite that, he refused to go home and insisted on staying with us until the martyrs were buried. How can the Military Council have become such criminals that they would issue orders to run over Copts with personnel carriers? Why wasn’t it good enough for them to kill them using bullets? Did they do that deliberately to terrorise the Copts? Many questions posed themselves in the midst of the hell that I experienced yesterday. To make the tragedy complete, there were Muslim citizens massed in front of the hospital chanting slogans against the Copts and threatening them with death. They believed that the Copts were the ones who had attacked the army, as the television keeps saying (that despicable talk show host Nourhan and her like). The families of the martyrs told me about Muslims who had shown solidarity with them and tried to protect them from the massacre, but also about Muslims who had assaulted them and were happy that the army had killed them. Yesterday I beheld the ugly Egypt against which we rose up—the religious fanaticism, the injustice, the criminality of the authorities, the killing of innocents, the falsification of forensic medical evidence, the submissiveness of the public prosecutor’s office to the will of the security forces. Everything dirty in this country I saw yesterday. Can you believe that I and my colleagues and with us Mr. Ashraf had to wage a long battle to get permission for autopsies to be performed on the martyrs’ bodies? Who was our battle with? With the public prosecutor, of course, who had received instructions from National Security officers and refused to allow the autopsy because it would provide incontrovertible evidence of the crime. Unfortunately, our battle wasn’t just with the public prosecutor but with the families of the martyrs themselves.