Cairo, Egypt

Flying home business class on an emergency flight from Cairo to Istanbul, I met a middle-aged German gentleman who had arrived in Cairo to run an annual marathon. We had been among the final 10 people allowed to board the flight out of an increasingly hectic, violent, and dangerous Cairo where the news of the day was that the Egyptian minister in charge of security forces, rashly motivated, opened the prisons sending potentially thousands of criminals onto the streets. While my friends and I hadn’t had access to the Internet and therefore any useful news for the last few days, the sporadic waves of information we did acquire every so often were shrouded in layers of bewilderment, mystery, and anticipation. The night before, I woke up every now and again to the crack of gunfire in the distance. Neighborhoods had apparently organized their own security forces in the absence of the police and were firing warning shots as part of a method of organization and warning. My friend and I had gone out the evening before to grab a bite to eat at an open stand not far from the apartment. Men and women carrying sticks and pointed objects in order to protect their businesses from potential looters met us with peaceful smiles but the weapons in hand sent a different message. The anxiety flooding Cairo was palpable.

As we marveled over the luxuries of Turkish Airlines business class (where we were ironically placed as the final people to board) – the spacious leg room, HD televisions in the head-rests, uniquely-packaged magazines, and the electronic seat adjusters – my German friend joked that we ought to find another country on the verge of political collapse and catch a flight out of there. Perhaps we’d nail another pair of business-class plane tickets. He mentioned Sudan. I smiled the best I could in quiet agreement.

What we both found less funny, and in fact appalling, was the way in which the waning Mubarak regime had deliberately contributed to the chaos Cairo now finds itself. The President’s refusal to step down and the liquidation of the prison system only meant more anger fueled by fear. But I realized that such brutality only scratches the surface for the Egyptian people – a population that has suffered brutal repression and a severe lack of opportunity for decades. I learned what it must be like to be Egyptian, and witnessed the pain of living under such repression bubble up and spill over as a young but sizeable movement of men and women assembled in the streets.

Having had studied the Muslim Brotherhood, regarded as the largest and most influential opposition movement in Egypt, I was interested to hear mostly secular chants from the throngs of demonstrators in Tahrir Square. “God is Great!” was chanted sparingly relative to simple albeit passionate declarations of freedom and disdain for Mubarak’s thirty-year reign. While it’s impossible to assign a leader to the movement (it seems Twitter and text messaging played a significant role) it seems to me that the demonstrations were student-led. I noticed one sign advertising the secular Wafd party, but that was one amongst hundreds that crossed my sights.

One demonstrator on the morning of the 28th, his face blackened with soot, wearing an Egyptian flag on his back, the side of his head bandaged tightly, was distributing pink carnations to soldiers in tanks who had moved into Tahrir in the early morning hours. Tear gas still wafted through the air as a reminder of what had transpired the night before. The military presence seemed a reassurance for the demonstrators who met them with bread and juice handouts in a deeply moving display of gratitude and appreciation. The gatherings evoked feelings of patriotism and of victory, at least for the time being. Police forces were driven out of the city, first by protestors and later by the military, and the gigantic National Democratic Party headquarters – a symbol of tyranny – burned in the background. The military stood idly by, and the people marched.

Small albeit violent skirmishes between lingering police and the demonstrators persisted. Rumors circulated that live fire was being used against demonstrators, and between the military and the police. The maze of allegiances wasn’t easy to comprehend. The military seamlessly took to protecting the people from police oppression, including plain-clothed thugs apparently hired out for a few pounds a day to wield clubs and suppress dissidents. But my friend and I are wary of how long the collaboration between demonstrators and the military will last. Despite the cooperation, the idea of turmoil doesn’t seem too far-fetched, especially as the gap in political power and in civil organization deepens, and the streets become more lawless.

It will no doubt be interesting to see how Egypt withstands the chaos: who falls, who rises to power, and the political consequences of such a transition. Protests have ignited throughout the Arab world as calls for freedom grow more furiously. The example of Tunisia, and now Egypt, may have inspired the most downtrodden of the most repressed countries, and the global political results may prove momentous. Finally, with the Internet back at my disposal, I’m able to read what information the media has gathered. The Egyptian movement is anxiously waiting for the military to make a decisive decision: the people or Mubarak.

While exciting to watch history unfold before my eyes, I withstood not only the wonder and excitement of it all, but also the fear and uncertainty. I’m stuck in overdrive, having seen events I found poignant but also profoundly frightening. While hardly confronted with the prospect of getting seriously hurt, I would have like to stay in better contact with my poor parents. I’ve traversed a broad spectrum of emotions these past few days and despite the serene scene in Sultanahmet's very own Starbucks, I’m still in need of a catharsis. I’m anxious, but talking and writing about it is somewhat of an emotional outlet.

Peace