Cairo's rich take refuge in new enclaves

I recently wrote a piece on Cairo's satellite cities, which, although originally conceived to relieve the strains caused by the city's unsustainable population growth, have become inhabited primarily by Egypt's economic and social elite, who are seeking respite from Cairo's urban problems.  The piece was published in Your Middle East, a wonderful media outlet that explores a variety of perspectives on the Middle East.

http://www.yourmiddleeast.com/features/cairos-rich-take-refuge-in-new-enclaves_14074

Man Dresses as Woman in the Streets of Cairo

Disconnected in Cairo

I finally bought a book I had been eying at the bookstore the other day.  The book, “Connected in Cairo: Growing up Cosmopolitan in the Modern Middle East”, tackles the complex issues of what it means to be “modern” and “cosmopolitan” in 21^st century Egypt.  The author, Mark Allen Peterson, explores and attempts to dissect the multifaceted metropolis of Cairo and the roots of how fervent religiosity, nationalism, and rampant consumerism have created a crisis of identity amongst Egypt’s youth, particularly its “cosmopolitan class”. 

Anyone visiting Cairo from more egalitarian locales will immediately notice the almost hyperactive class consciousness that permeates every aspect of society: there are so many subtle and not so subtle codes of dress, mannerisms, styles, and language that distinguish the self-described cosmopolitan Egyptians – wealthy, western-oriented consumers – from the “masses”.  It is this “cosmopolitan class”, Peterson argues, whose members are not merely passive consumers of globalized culture but active and entrepreneurial manipulators, shaping familiar brands into more localized or hybrid versions. 

Yet within the cosmopolitan class there are individuals who struggle to define themselves as both “modern” and authentically “Egyptian”, reflecting the different ideological masks that Egypt has tried on throughout the 20^th century.  Amongst the young, wealthy, and educated elite of Cairo who are the focus of much of the book’s case studies, there is an uneasiness and insecurity to their globalized “non-Egyptian” identities, and a desire to be more rooted to their local context through religion, nationalism, and even language.  These contradictions and juxtaposed identities are part of what makes Cairo both a fascinating and frustrating city.   

I found the case study on Cairo’s upscale Starbucks-inspired coffee shops – Cilantro, Beanos, etc. – to be the most fascinating, particularly for what they represent in terms of gender norms (masculinity and femininity), class consciousness, commodification, “liberal” attitudes, and elitism in Egypt.  Most visitors and long-term residents of Cairo can relate to the different coffeehouse lifestyles that the book highlights with delightful insight: the local, hyper-masculine public space of the ‘ahwa, versus the westernized coffee shops that offer iterations of an elite, quasi-European lifestyle with their expensive espresso-based coffee drinks.

Peterson’s book was inspired by his work as a professor of anthropology at the American University of Cairo (AUC), the most prestigious university in Egypt both lauded and scorned for representing, for many Egyptians, the very best and worst aspects of Westernization.  The book’s heavy and sometimes repetitive academic jargon is softened by fascinating and insightful anecdotes based on his personal experiences and conversations with young and elite students of AUC. 

A good book challenges ones perceptions.  And Peterson’s book does this quite well, offering a new perspective on the familiar subject of globalization that will be of value to those interested in the realities and challenges of modern Egypt, beyond the clichés of religious fundamentalism, and what they say about the wider world all around us.  

Coptic pope says Egyptian protests should end - Middle East - Al Jazeera English

Today being January 7^th, the day the Coptic Egyptian community celebrates Christmas, it was perhaps appropriate that the country’s newly ordained Coptic pope, Tawadros II, would offer his perspective on Egypt in the new year. 

The days before Mubarak’s fall, when Egyptians of all political and religious stripes linked arms and held up unifying banners against the regime, feel like ancient history in the current climate of political polarization and ongoing frustration over the stagnant economy.  In his interview with Al-Jazeera, the pope’s message was clear: religion has no place in politics.  He argues instead that the Church’s role in particular should be as a spiritual and social leader.  As for Egyptians themselves, the pope made a case for forgoing street protests and instead working together to rebuild Egypt.

Coptic pope says Egyptian protests should end - Middle East - Al Jazeera English

The Next Generation

Tahrir Square before Tahrir

An excerpt of an original piece of mine that provides a short historical analysis, something that I feel has been largely absent in the international media coverage, of Tahrir square and what meaning it had, or didn't have, for Egyptians before the revolution and how it has been transformed over the least several months.

I paused and took a deep breath before plunging into the steady stream of cars and diesel buses in Tahrir Square, the now famous epicenter of the Egyptian protests that toppled the Mubarak regime. I walked swiftly, not slowing my pace and keeping my eye on the traffic, until I reached the large swath of grass in the center of the traffic circle. Before the crowds of Egyptian protesters and international media colonized the square, smaller dramas were being played out every day in this tense arena of people and cars.

In the late afternoon families would brave the roaring traffic, as I did, and picnic in this rather hazardous gathering space. Surrounded by the constant noise and heady fumes, children would chase each other in circles while their parents watched and chatted. In the evenings the young and bored, mostly men, passively took over the grassy circle with their friends or else lingered alone with only the glow of their mobiles, before heading to the bridges and breezy corniche along the Nile.

The fact that Cairenes would go to such lengths, nearly risking life and limb, for a space to breathe was a testament to the degree to which Cairo had become an oppressive and unlivable city, one that had utterly neglected the needs of its own people. The difficulty of doing something so seemingly mundane was a further painful allegory for how far Egypt as a whole had fallen under decades of poor governance. As the government built up its crushing bureaucracy and bent over backwards to cater to millions of foreign tourists eager to experience the Pyramids, ordinary citizens had been left to survive on their own or suffer at the hands of the security forces.

Conceived by the ruler Khedive Ismael, the Ottoman era viceroy of Egypt in the 19^th century, Tahrir Square (originally named Ismaelia Square after the Khedive) was the centerpiece of his plan for a modern Cairo that would emulate all things European: a “Paris on the Nile”, replete with ornate occidental facades, monumental squares, and elegant boulevards. It was a potent symbol of Egypt’s eagerness to embrace, or at least catch up to, a world that had long since shifted in favor of Western Europe. With the death of British Imperialism and the subsequent birth of the Egyptian republic in 1952, the square was renamed Tahrir, meaning liberation. Yet no meaningful statue or monument that would suggest a nod to history, liberation, or even forward-thinking modernism has ever graced its center. Tahrir Square was functional for Cairo’s ever increasing vehicle traffic, but little else. Liberation was a word that had power when attached to something of value, but in the context of its namesake square in Cairo, it signified little more than a vague sense of Egyptian nationalism.

In deeper ways Tahrir Square was symbolic for all the wrong reasons .It represented a present day Egypt that was stagnant; neither reflective of its glorious past, nor prepared or capable of thriving in the 21^st century. Young Egyptians in particular were, in desperation, trapped in the figurative center of Tahrir watching the modern world pass them by.

Surrounding the square were far more potent symbols that were as irrelevant to the word liberation as they were to the transient groups that utilized the space before the revolution. There was the government office building known as the Mogamma, the ruling National Democratic Party (NDP) headquarters, the high-end hotels, and the downtown campus of the American University - blatant symbols of bureaucracy, corruption, excess, and exclusivity, respectively. The aloof headquarters of the Arab League, whose principles are based on the shaky ideals of regional integration and Arab nationalism, was nearby. A large construction site, where foundations were being laid for yet another luxury hotel with views of the Nile, separated Tahrir Square from the venerable florid-colored Egyptian Museum. That they could all be seen clearly if one stood in the center of one of the city’s few green spaces was even more disturbing.

Fast forward a few months, and this vantage point was now obscured daily by hundreds of thousands of citizens waving their nation’s flag and demanding the resignation of President Mubarak. Ordinary Egyptians of all classes and from all corners of the country were now huddled under tents in the grass or taking up every available inch of the square. Egyptians themselves seemed in awe at this rare display of unity in the face of a regime, as well as an international community, that was unwilling or reluctant to change the status quo. Tahrir Square had been transformed, not by the desecration of physical symbols of oppression, but by people laying claim to its physical space. The Square became a unifying symbol of their fight for, perhaps not democracy in the rather vague Western sense, but dignity, opportunity, and a better life for the next generation.

In an odd twist of fate, as the immediate square has been reclaimed and redefined as a center for a nascent civil society and ongoing weekly protests, its surroundings have lost much of their power and importance. The NDP building is literally a charred skeleton of its former self, Although its buildings still remain, much of the American University (long an exclusive factory for Egypt’s future elite) has in recent years relocated to a sprawling new campus east of the city in what was previously barren desert. Fear has driven tourists out of Egypt, leaving most of the nearby high-end hotels vacant. Once lucrative tourist shops and travel agencies that line the periphery of the square now sit empty.

The square itself flows once again with unnerving car traffic day and night, and the renewed sense of civic duty has failed to keep up with accumulating amounts of trash, leaving some to speculate that little has changed or will change for the better. Many people are struggling with the desire to fulfill the goals of the revolution and honor those who died fighting for it, and the need to move on with their lives and simply survive much as they always have. The city continues to transform and grow at a dizzying pace, drawing in thousands by the day, straining the infrastructure, and prompting those who can afford to do so to flee to cleaner and greener nouveau-riche suburbs.

Yet activists and others still flood into the square with renewed fervor every Friday, holding on to Tahrir as a vanguard of democracy and a venue for expressing long-suppressed desires. But the darkest cloud that gathers over Tahrir Square is the prospect that democracy won’t come soon enough for most Egyptians. The recent flare-ups of sectarian violence and the spike in overall crime in the capital have exposed a fractious society that has yet to address long-simmering class and religious tensions.

What was never underestimated was the Egyptian capacity to endure hardship. But what remains to be seen is if the people of the Nile can fight for democracy as long and hard as they have had to fight to simply endure. For now, it is the people who have become the symbol, the icon, and the monument that never existed in Tahrir Square. They have filled its long empty void and have given it, and themselves, a sense of power, however fragile.

An Egyptian Woman in Cairo

She refused to cover her long, curly black hair; she would walk with confidence and determination on the street. As a result, she was often the target of verbal and even physical harassment from Egyptian men, both shockingly young and disturbingly old alike. Her strong personality intimidated the men around her. She could almost be a foreigner in her own country. Egyptian machismo and misogyny was about power, domination and control, in a country where the majority have little control over their own lives.

One day I told her, “The next time a man says a bad word to you in the street you should ask him how he would feel if his sister, or daughter even, was spoken to in that way.” She laughed at my naivety. “They don’t care!” she retorted. “They would just laugh and continue making comments.”

“It’s not just me”, she continued. “Even women in hijabs face constant harassment.”

It was true. I would regularly witness verbal harassment against very modesty dressed Egyptian women, and often culturally sensitive/modestly dressed European and American women as well, in the crowded and anonymous streets of downtown Cairo. Here, in streets full of thousands of strangers, men could act like fools and say terrible things without facing retribution or shame from their neighbors back in the more insular districts of the city. Downtown is by far the most cosmopolitan area of Cairo, yet it is sadly a place where one sees the most blatantly ugly side of gender relations and sexual frustration in Egyptian society. As a man, albeit a “progressive Westerner”, it infuriates me that some men truly have no respect for any women and will use every excuse in the book (from religion to culture) in order to justify their behavior. I have even heard some arguments that men lack self-control and so thus, if a women is harassed, groped, or even raped, it will always be her fault and no one else’s.

Fortunately, there are no shortages of organizations, and even dedicated groups of women, that are determined to address this issue and fight the prejudice and harassment of women in Egyptian society. There is even a relatively recent project entitled “Harassmap”, which highlights areas in Cairo that are known for having higher incidents of abuse against women. It was created primarily as a resource for Arabic speaking Egyptian women, but it is also useful for foreigners (especially independent travelers and long-time residents) as well.

Sadly, Egyptian men in general are still far too slow in acknowledging a problem that “tarnishes their reputation”. Well, foreign women themselves have been warned for years about Egyptian men and their reputation for being inappropriate, to say the least, towards the opposite sex. No doubt that a female traveler who is fair skinned and blonde in particular will get a plethora of unwanted attention from local men, regardless of how modestly she is dressed.

But it is Egyptian women themselves who have to deal with this sort of behavior on a daily basis. They are the ones who bear the most suffering and humiliation. A recent 2010 Egyptian film, entitled 687, was the first to address this issue in the Egyptian cinema. It is a story of three Egyptian women who, after being victims of harassment in different situations, decide to take violent retribution against their perpetrators. I have yet to see the film, but it is already causing quite a stir in Egypt.

Although we all know that every Egyptian male is not a perpetrator of sexual harassment against women, innocent women cannot fight this battle alone. I say to all Egyptian men: speak out for the sake of your mothers, your daughters, your sisters, and your cousins.