Once Upon a Revolution

Epigraph

1. Breaking the Wall of Fear

2. The Country Is Dying

3. Enough

4. The Republic of Tahrir

5. Seeds of Discontent

6. Stuck in the Square

7. The Owner of This World Is a Devil

8. Upstairs from the Dead Cow

9. I Don't Fear My People

10. The Enemy Within

11. The Revolution Continues

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Index

For Anthony, whose love and enthusiasm inspired this project and imbues my every day;

And for Athina and Odysseas, perpetual revolutions of curiosity and joy.

But what about us? Or let me say what about you? You who reject the injustice of detention but remain free outside the prisons? What will you do? Will you share in the show? Or withdraw from it and wait silently to be taken from your homes? Will you abandon us? Will you be content to wait because this is a temporary situation? . . . Everyone knows that there is no hope for us who have gone ahead into prison except through you who will surely follow. So what are you going to do?

—Alaa Abdel Fattah, “Everybody Knows,” Letter from Prison,
March 2014

Remember the tomorrow that never came?

—Keizer, Cairo street graffiti

Even though you can destroy a man, destroying him does not make him cease to exist. On the contrary, if I can put it this way, he begins to exist all the more. These are paradoxes no tyrant can deal with. The scythe swings, and at once the grass starts to grow back. Cut again, and the grass grows faster than ever.

—Ryszard Kapuściński,
Shah of Shahs

Listen: I didn't mean to write a book about the Egyptian Revolution. When Tahrir Square first erupted, I had to go see it for myself, because I'd been writing about hopelessness in the Arab world for most of my adult life, and January 25, 2011, was the first unequivocally hopeful thing I'd seen. I meant to stay only a little while, but the people I met there were doing something that mattered not just for Egypt or the Arab world but for everyone. They weren't merely trying to overthrow a despicable regime; they were trying to invent a new kind of democracy that would improve on the existing models around the world. They were ambitious idealists. They wanted to take the best of what they saw in democracy around the world and combine it into a system that was fairer, freer, and more efficient.

Egypt's dictators had insisted that their subjects were incompetent, helpless sheep who needed a strong hand. Left on their own, they'd make a mess and starve to death. Egypt's revolution began with eighteen utopian days in Tahrir. A group of people with no previous experience of self-rule created institutions to rule the square. It was nothing short of a new society in miniature. They collected garbage in a country where littering was endemic. They organized security patrols, a jail, food distribution, prayer spaces, entertainment. They even formed a government of sorts, the Revolutionary Youth Coalition, which drafted policy proposals and plotted a political strategy. These individuals had come of age impervious to society's effort to make them passive and helpless. I sought out the people in the square who were taking initiative, taking charge, spewing plans and
ideas. They were the ones most responsible for the inspiring eighteen days in Tahrir, and I wanted to see how they would go about seeking change in the years to come. They knew that remaking Egypt was a long-term project with long odds.

I focused on a few dozen activists who gravitated to politics. They came from varied backgrounds and had different areas of expertise: street organizing, human rights, policy, party politics. I followed them as they endeavored to translate Tahrir Square's utopian society into a political system. In the years after Tahrir Square and the fall of President Hosni Mubarak, Egypt hosted a bloody struggle for power and between different ideas of government. The revolutionaries brought a lofty, idealistic tone to the contest, but they were joined and often bested by the established players: the army, the police, Mubarak's elite, and the Muslim Brotherhood, the secretive religious organization that had survived eight decades underground. Many revolutionaries show up in these pages, along with representatives of the establishment and other reactionary forces. I have chosen to place at the center of the story two men from different backgrounds who embodied the revolution's most important aspirations and persisted through setback after setback.

One is a schlumpy pharmacist named Moaz Abdelkarim, a career activist who grew up in the Muslim Brotherhood but whose propensity for joking and asking questions was incompatible with its authoritarian culture. When the revolution began, Moaz was twenty-six years old. He represented the revolution's id or soul, and its Islamist branch. Moaz was personally religious but passionate about pluralism and secular government. At all times, he lived by an injunction to do the right thing regardless of its personal cost. Moaz wore this morality without fanfare, and never set it aside. Like many revolutionaries, he also had trouble thinking beyond the present moment. If the right thing right now conflicted with the right thing for the long run, he always prioritized right now.

The other figure I have emphasized is an architect named Basem Kamel, who avoided politics until he turned forty the year before the uprising. Basem was as shrewd as Moaz was impulsive, as punctual as Moaz was perpetually tardy. Basem had built a business, raised a family, and stayed out of trouble. When finally he started to resist Egypt's corrupt
political system, he moved strategically. He had more at risk than those revolutionaries without families, but also more to gain. Basem never did anything without first considering the long-term consequences. Tahrir Square was a powerful symbol, but it wasn't the goal of the revolution; the goal was to bring effective representational democracy to Egypt. Protest was just one tactic to that end. Basem worked hard at politics, unflaggingly, even when no one was paying attention. He cared deeply for the revolution but wasn't carried away by emotion. He represented the revolution's ego or brain, and its secular branch.

Basem and Moaz were hardly ever alone in their political adventures, and there were many equally admirable and equally flawed individuals working alongside them. There are perhaps a few hundred activists whose commitment never failed. Their stories differ in emphasis and detail but fit tightly together in Tahrir's revolutionary constellation. The story of where Basem and Moaz came from and where they ended up tells a large part of the story of why the Tahrir Revolution occurred and why it followed the course it did.

I must be frank. I fell in love with the Tahrir Revolution, but this love didn't blind me to its faults. I admired the men and women I followed through years of revolt and upheaval, but it was not an uncritical affection. They defied the society from which they sprang, but they also reflected it. They embarked on their flawed but inspiring uprising freighted with all of Egypt's legacies. The revolutionaries suffered from a political miseducation and, at climactic moments, from a reflex to avoid conflict. They were almost fatally polite and obsessed with consensus, flaws that sometimes made them lose nerve but more often made them lose coherence. They embodied the human capacity to transcend one's life story, but they didn't defy the laws of physics and human nature. They didn't make magic, even if their story was magical.

This is a primal story of human beings shattering the chains that bind them, and striking against a power that oppresses them. But it's a true story, not a fairy tale, so the power fights back. The heroic revolutionaries suffer from fatal flaws, while their opponents—the people who side with the old regime—aren't all cartoon caricatures of evil. This is a story about universal human aspirations and the timeless struggle of revolutionary
youth against wily power; but it's also a story very particular to Egypt. The revolt arose from a proud tradition of Arab nationalism and a specifically Egyptian sense of destiny. Like Americans, Egyptians believe their nation charts a course for all others to follow. They call Egypt “the mother of the world” and hearken often to its birthright as the cradle of civilization. Traditionally, Egypt also occupies the center of the Arab world. In the last century, it has struggled with both the legacy of colonialism and the Israeli-Palestinian conflict on its border. The young activists in Tahrir wanted to reclaim Egypt's historical influence without its bullying. They wanted to resolve their nation's historical conflicts rather than simply sweep them away.

People are constantly expressing sympathy: “How can you write a book about the Egyptian Revolution, when it never stops changing?” Friends also usually extend some kind of condolences for the outcome: so many hopes frustrated, so many innocent people in prison or exile, so many villains back in power. As I write these words today, I cannot predict what will become of the revolution that for an instant felt like it might transform the whole world. Predicting history is a fool's business. What I do know is that the human story at the core of the Tahrir Square Revolution, of ordinary individuals who forced an extraordinary transformation in themselves and their society, is a story for all of us and for all time. It cannot be undone. What must happen for Egypt to shake its history of state oppression is the same thing that needs to happen anywhere for an unfree society to become free: individuals change in their souls, and then gather enough momentum to transform their government and its grinding machinery. We change the way we think; then we conquer the institutions of control.

Such drastic change for the good requires an almost impossible confluence of brilliance and luck. My generation came of age at the end of the Cold War, and was taught that history had ended. Now we were just tinkering with the details of how to reach the destination on which everyone had agreed. We were taught to triangulate, to make reasonable demands. That phony consensus spawned an age of pragmatism. Excessive hope and belief in revolution came to be seen as embarrassingly naïve, because the world evolves slowly; it never makes staggering leaps.
Tahrir reminded us that it isn't always so: that history still makes leaps and retains a capacity for surprise, even if, for Egypt, great change proved out of reach for now.