I moved to Egypt about six months after its 2011 revolution. In the year that I lived there, I came to love the country. In my free time, I would walk the streets of my section of Cairo and just soak all of the sounds, sights, and smells in. I never felt in danger; the people I encountered on a nearly daily basis were more than friendly and willing to share their thoughts on the things that really mattered to them. Depending on the person, my very broken Arabic was a bit of an obstacle. But what I got from nearly everyone was a sense of deep concern for instability and the economy, an intense pride in being an Egyptian in the light of what they had achieved months earlier, and a persistent hope for the future.
I left Cairo a few days after Mohamed Morsi's inauguration feeling cautiously optimistic. I believed that somehow Egypt would come out on the other side of its instability and uncertainty and emerge stronger than before. Having studied several modern revolutions and the many years of struggle that proceeded them, I didn't expect that this would happen soon. Most people I talked to knew it would be a long road, and that there would be no easy or overnight cures for Egypt's troubles. This has been no clearer than on Wednesday, a day which ended in the ouster of Morsi. (It was a coup, regardless of whether the removal of the president was a benign execution of the “people's will” by the military. Let's call a spade a spade here.) Egypt will essentially need to relive the year and a half of political and constitutional limbo it spent in between the 25 January revolution and the parliamentary and presidential elections.
And who knows the political, social, and economic effects that Morsi's removal will bring with it? Some of the same people who were dreadfully concerned a few years ago that the military would never give up power to a democratically-elected government cheered as helicopters flew over Tahrir Square. This time, what will the military's interactions with the democratic process and writing of the constitution be like? Will groups in the military leadership see public support for its actions this week as a mandate for grasping even greater control over the day-to-day politics and economic activity of the country? How severe and illegal will the backlash against Egypt's Islamists become? These and a dozen other questions will loom over Egypt in the months (and, let's face it, years) to come.
In spite of the continued violence and protests over Morsi's ouster, though, what other choice did Egyptians have? On the day the presidential election results were announced, I was sitting rigidly in front of my computer in my Cairo apartment. My heart was in my throat and I was getting the chills that always accompany particularly anxious moments in my life. While Egyptian officials drew out the announcement of the winner longer than a season finale of American Idol, I prayed that Morsi had won over Ahmed Shafiq, who I was convinced would simply continue Mubarak's system of rule. When Morsi was eventually declared the winner, I remember sighing with relief and thinking about how close the election numbers had been. Unlike the parliamentary elections, in which the Muslim Brotherhood and other Islamists gained a clear majority, Morsi squeaked past with a narrow 52% victory. Nonetheless, winning the elections signified to Morsi and his Brotherhood cadres that they now had the right to mold Egypt's future singlehandedly. In the process of realizing their vision, and in spite of whatever good intentions the leadership may have originally had, Morsi proved himself in some ways to be just as despotic as Hosni Mubarak. He and his party attempted to alienate those with differing visions from participating in Egypt's future, using their power to silence and marginalize the opposition. The accusations against Bassem Youssef for “maligning” the president and criticizing Islam are a case in point. (For those who are unfamiliar with Youssef, he hosts El Bernameg, Egypt's version of The Daily Show with Jon Stewart.)
The recent protests against the president did not occur because of the ignorance and unruliness of Egyptians. Millions of people didn't gather in Tahrir Square and Alexandria last week solely because of their impatience and disappointment with the snail-like rate at which Egypt was recovering economically and politically. Unrealistic expectations of the progress that should have been made by Morsi during his year in office were not driving what many are calling the largest political protest in modern history.
At the heart of the outrage of so many Egyptians is their perception that the 2011 revolution needs to be set back on track, that the heavy-handed and immoral ways in which Morsi and the Brotherhood leaders attempted to forge Egypt's future need to be opposed. Excepting the inevitable presence of some miscreants in the crowds, what we saw last week were people like you and me, willing to gather and stand for the hope of a just and prosperous Egypt. (Many of those gathered in support of Morsi, perhaps, should not be excluded from this statement either.)
Several days after the ouster of the president, the situation in the country continues to be grim and deeply unsettling to those of us who love Umm ad-Dunia. Hope seems to be in short supply. But it is that hope, hope that drives both Egyptians and members of the world community to stand up for justice at potentially great cost to themselves, that will be needed if Egypt is not to fall into either anarchy or despotism. The revolution continues, God willing, not with violence and coercion but through a strong commitment and love towards the country. But this love is useless if not translated into action to defend Egypt from those who put their own greed for power and influence over the interests of its future.
(Next week, I will continue to discuss the need for hope and for people willing to stand up for justice in Egypt, probably from a more “spiritual” perspective.)
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