BY NOURHAN AHMED
طالبه مصريه اسكندرانيه فى جامعة هارفارد الان
بارك الله فيكى يا افضل طالبه لدى على مر الايام
It's been hard to turn away from the events in Egypt over these last few weeks. I had been to Egypt in January 2009 and 2010 and several times I had walked through Tahrir Square to get to the American University in Cairo to go to our conference during my fellowship's mid-year meeting. (This year I heard that the conference was cancelled and that some fellows had to be evacuated from Cairo back to their respective countries.) For me, Tahrir Square was simply a bustling traffic circle that was quicker to walk through than to suffer in a hot cab. To see it so suddenly transformed into the modern symbol of the human need for democratic rights much like the Bastille in Paris or those Tea Ships in Boston or the Wall in Berlin, was surreal and inspiring.
But what was more inspiring was what I knew of the people who were protesting. I have been appalled at much of the commentary I have heard in the news these past couple of weeks. And not just from the most obvious commentators like Sean Hannity and Glenn Beck, but contributers to MSNBC as well. It seemed that the instant it seemed possible for this protest to have some effect, the handwringing over a new Iran or other kind of violent fundamentalist "Islamist" "jihadist" regime began. Only a few reporters seemed to actually take the opportunity to talk to the actual protesters and hear why they were there and what they hoped for the future of Egypt.
I'd like to introduce my readers to one such protester. Her name is Nourhan Ahmed. She is a senior in high school in Alexandria, Egypt. I met her in Beni Suef during a two-day camp for the Access English program the U.S. Embassy in Egypt hosted. Of all the students we worked with during those camps, Nourhan was by far the most out-spoken with her ideas for programs to better her community and the lives of the fellow students we worked with. During the camp, I also had the pleasure of talking with Menna Bassiouny, Nourhan's best friend. These two young women embodied so much optimism and ambition that I could only see bright things for Egypt's future.
During the protests, Nourhan and I corresponded heavily and I watched her and Menna's mood go up and down as the country went through its audacious, inspiring, frightening, discouraging and ultimately miraculous transition. When it was all over, I had the pleasure of getting a long essay from Nourhan that explained her experience. That is what follows.
Nourhan's is only one of many stories, but I can tell you that even Egyptian friends of mine that were at first against this revolution are now congratulating those who did it and not one of the people I know there or that I have seen on TV is talking of Shari-a Law or Jihad against the west. So I hope you will read her words and use them to challenge the fear that is sometimes portrayed in our news.
I will let Nourhan take it from here:
Mission Accomplished
by Nourhan Ahmed on Sunday, February 13, 2011
Friday, January 28th was my very first time to ever march the streets. Before I went, I thought I might be the only one going, and if not the only one, then perhaps the only girl. I was both anxious and scared – "will people really go?" "Can Egyptians actually sacrifice their security and come protest?" I mean I knew people were marching in Cairo, but the words “demonstration” and “Egypt” sounded unrelated to me. I actually had to read the newspapers twice to check that I hadn't mis-understood. Early in the morning, I tried to check the event page on Facebook, but there was no internet at my house. I tried calling some friends to ask for more exact details, but my cell phone's network was also not available --I felt disconnected; I was angry, especially when I knew that it was the government that blocked any access. I just thought that was it – I must go alone and see for myself.
On the way, I watched carefully from the car and waited with bated breath to see signs of flags. At first, I saw nothing but countless police cars, until I came near The Alexandria Library. At this moment, I felt I must be dreaming, but my dreams about change have never been that amazing. It was the biggest crowd of people I had ever seen. Everyone started marching passionately; It was all a bit unreal at the beginning. I knew exactly what I was there for – to say no to dictatorship, no to emergency law, no to Mubarak and his government, and many other no's— but it was just all too big for me to grasp and believe. I too started marching, screaming, and holding the flag, I thought to myself "can this really be Egypt’s tipping point?" At this moment, nothing could stop us, even when the police used tear gas. I never felt stronger, better, or more Egyptian. We were excited, not afraid; confident, not dismayed, and so hopeful.
When I returned home and was again in my room, I started to hear more and more gunfire from outside and started to smell tear gas. Before we could even wonder about the exact source of these noises, we heard some neighbors screaming and asking for help and a doctor. "They shot him!" someone screamed. Seconds later, we were all coughing from the smoke coming from the nearby police station. We learned that, after many clashes with the police, and after the police had used guns against them, some people had set fire to it. It was unbelievably terrible. Unfortunately, the same scenario happened all over Egypt, and by nightfall most police stations and some of the national party headquarters were burned. Things were happening so fast that there was absolutely no room –or voice- for questions. "Blood, gun fire, and burning…Am I in Afghanistan?" I asked myself.
After a very long and hectic day, President Mubarak’s address showed us that our voices had not yet been loud enough. He only changed the government and had somehow ignored the million voices calling out for changes in the constitution and emergency law, and more importantly, the big demand of wanting him to leave. His stubbornness pushed us, whom the government was now calling the "Facebook Generation", to persist and be even more determined. I must admit though that the government was supportive in proving us right as it continued blocking all internet service throughout Egypt – leaving us all sadly isolated, but unwaveringly resolute to keep on.
On Saturday evening, frightening stories about the release of prisoners uncontrollably spread through the media, and gangs, on motorbikes and in cars, started roaming the streets, and robbing supermarkets, malls and houses. At this point, there were no police at all in the country, no fire departments, and no one to call for help in such a shocking emergency – even most of the young men were out in protests and thus were unable to help. Now, that was real turmoil; hearing nothing but screaming and crying and unknown gunfire. Everyone was terrified. Now, that was the scariest moment of my life.
However, mosques around Alexandria started calling on young men over loudspeakers. All the women started calling their sons and husbands to leave the protest and come protect us. It was amazing. This was the real Egyptian spirit I was pining for – not just marching the streets, not just standing up and saying no when it is hard - but actually standing up all night armed with guns, clubs or knives ready to protect ourselves from anyone who dares to come and attack our neighborhood. The scene from my balcony was never more incredible.
People organized themselves into groups: some went to the protest again, others protected my neighborhood's borders, and others simply organized a campfire and made cakes. Nobody slept the whole night – we literally turned the street into a park for camping and football; we knew we were in danger, but we just wanted to be happy and really protect ourselves till the very last point… My best friend Menna called to joke that Mubarak probably did not understand our modern Arabic, for he has not been inside of Egypt for quite some time.
That night, one man told me, "(Mubarak) ordered the police to let prisoners escape, hoping we would stop marching and go protect our homes. Then, he used hired thugs and told them to attack us … but we won't stop until he leaves!" After that our protests just grew bigger and tenser; "leave… now!" we said in all languages hoping he'd get the message, but apparently we still had not found the language he understood.
On Wednesday, Mubarak finally spoke for the second time and promised that he would not run for a new term as president. This time, his speech was so eloquent and expressive that some of my neighbors, who originally opposed him, earnestly shed tears. My grandmother cried. Egyptians are emotional by nature and because his speech was so emotional, I believe that is why some went out to support him the next day. They were really charmed by his speech.
At this point, we were running out of cash and food, and some were not ready to take the risk of giving up their previous so-called "stability", not to mention the increasing fear of having the army inside of the country and living under a curfew. "We are tired… we want Mubarak; we want our secure lives back," my neighbor said.
But was she right? If Mubarak did not intend to run for a new term, why did he not say this in his first speech? If our national channels were really honest about the Muslim Brotherhood taking over, why did I see many secular people and Christians marching? Why, when members of the Muslim Brotherhood tried to take over the protest, did we scream at them and ask them to step down immediately? (Which they did). And why also were there anti-Mubarak rap and dancing? (Things the Muslim Brotherhood wouldn't approve of)
If our government is the most democratic, why could we not get access to internet and why were our phones disrupted? If our police are nonviolent, why did I smell tear gas and why were people killed and wounded? If Mubarak dismissed the government, appointed a new vice president, promised constitutional reforms, and even promised not to stand for re-election, why did we continue our marching against him?
The answer is simple: We lost trust. We had been waiting for years for the government to make changes, but were repeatedly disappointed. This time we: poor and rich, Christian and Muslim, man and woman, young and old, finally left our houses in the hope of making a concrete difference and screaming out "game over!"We faced many obstacles, from food to personal safety to chaos, that might have hampered our efforts and even torn Egypt apart, but these obstacles just created a closer-knit community and a deeper aspiration to continue to say "No! We’ve had enough!"
Egypt was dead before this; now we were talking; writing, arguing... disagreeing... we could offend and get offended - this was democracy. During these days of persistence, I lost all focus on my studies. I could only think of nothing but marching and arguing and screaming, “Leave, Leave.” On the Wednesday, February 9 protest, I held up a sign that said: “Mubarak, please leave soon…I have physics and biology to study.”
But, on February 10, my humor faded. The day before, Mubarak had rejected our demands again and I started to feel guilty from the tons of Facebook statuses people were writing about how wrong we were to march. I grew so depressed, I stopped my emails and Facebook and phone and was going to pack and leave to my grandmother's house where there was no internet or phone or any one to make me feel guilty about my ideas. People around me were pushing against me so hard, that I started to doubt and re-consider all my actions. Someone told me I was an "American spy" while others said we were the reason for the killing of innocent people. Another woman simply screamed at me to stop!
On the morning of February 11, I felt suffocated and couldn’t find anyone to talk to. There was a crazy mood in the air. Everyone around me was scared and nobody was talking. I couldn’t study and I couldn’t get my mind off what was happening. Some of my friends were in Tahrir square and I was worried for them. My father insisted I not leave the house and I felt torn and confused as I read about the terrible economic situation. However, I decided to leave the house one more time, because I knew I would be psychologically sick if I stayed in that situation. Mostly I wanted to believe that I was doing the right thing for my country.
Then it happened. He resigned! The only thing I could do was shout “Congratulations! I love Egypt! I love Egyptians. I love us! We made history!” My best friend, Menna and I went and celebrated for three hours. We walked all the way home from the celebration to our houses, sang, and held the flag and danced. Egypt was all awake and happy and everyone (even those who said we were wrong) was excited. It was a new birthday for a brand new Egypt.
I can only think of a modified version of Gandhi’s quote to express what has happened in my country. First they ignore you, then they listen but pretend they don’t understand, then they fight you, then they try to kill you, then they ask you to negotiate—and finally YOU WIN!
MAY ALLAH BLESS YOU
YOUR TEACHER
THANKS
طالبه مصريه اسكندرانيه فى جامعة هارفارد الان
بارك الله فيكى يا افضل طالبه لدى على مر الايام
It's been hard to turn away from the events in Egypt over these last few weeks. I had been to Egypt in January 2009 and 2010 and several times I had walked through Tahrir Square to get to the American University in Cairo to go to our conference during my fellowship's mid-year meeting. (This year I heard that the conference was cancelled and that some fellows had to be evacuated from Cairo back to their respective countries.) For me, Tahrir Square was simply a bustling traffic circle that was quicker to walk through than to suffer in a hot cab. To see it so suddenly transformed into the modern symbol of the human need for democratic rights much like the Bastille in Paris or those Tea Ships in Boston or the Wall in Berlin, was surreal and inspiring.
But what was more inspiring was what I knew of the people who were protesting. I have been appalled at much of the commentary I have heard in the news these past couple of weeks. And not just from the most obvious commentators like Sean Hannity and Glenn Beck, but contributers to MSNBC as well. It seemed that the instant it seemed possible for this protest to have some effect, the handwringing over a new Iran or other kind of violent fundamentalist "Islamist" "jihadist" regime began. Only a few reporters seemed to actually take the opportunity to talk to the actual protesters and hear why they were there and what they hoped for the future of Egypt.
I'd like to introduce my readers to one such protester. Her name is Nourhan Ahmed. She is a senior in high school in Alexandria, Egypt. I met her in Beni Suef during a two-day camp for the Access English program the U.S. Embassy in Egypt hosted. Of all the students we worked with during those camps, Nourhan was by far the most out-spoken with her ideas for programs to better her community and the lives of the fellow students we worked with. During the camp, I also had the pleasure of talking with Menna Bassiouny, Nourhan's best friend. These two young women embodied so much optimism and ambition that I could only see bright things for Egypt's future.
During the protests, Nourhan and I corresponded heavily and I watched her and Menna's mood go up and down as the country went through its audacious, inspiring, frightening, discouraging and ultimately miraculous transition. When it was all over, I had the pleasure of getting a long essay from Nourhan that explained her experience. That is what follows.
Nourhan's is only one of many stories, but I can tell you that even Egyptian friends of mine that were at first against this revolution are now congratulating those who did it and not one of the people I know there or that I have seen on TV is talking of Shari-a Law or Jihad against the west. So I hope you will read her words and use them to challenge the fear that is sometimes portrayed in our news.
I will let Nourhan take it from here:
Mission Accomplished
by Nourhan Ahmed on Sunday, February 13, 2011
Friday, January 28th was my very first time to ever march the streets. Before I went, I thought I might be the only one going, and if not the only one, then perhaps the only girl. I was both anxious and scared – "will people really go?" "Can Egyptians actually sacrifice their security and come protest?" I mean I knew people were marching in Cairo, but the words “demonstration” and “Egypt” sounded unrelated to me. I actually had to read the newspapers twice to check that I hadn't mis-understood. Early in the morning, I tried to check the event page on Facebook, but there was no internet at my house. I tried calling some friends to ask for more exact details, but my cell phone's network was also not available --I felt disconnected; I was angry, especially when I knew that it was the government that blocked any access. I just thought that was it – I must go alone and see for myself.
On the way, I watched carefully from the car and waited with bated breath to see signs of flags. At first, I saw nothing but countless police cars, until I came near The Alexandria Library. At this moment, I felt I must be dreaming, but my dreams about change have never been that amazing. It was the biggest crowd of people I had ever seen. Everyone started marching passionately; It was all a bit unreal at the beginning. I knew exactly what I was there for – to say no to dictatorship, no to emergency law, no to Mubarak and his government, and many other no's— but it was just all too big for me to grasp and believe. I too started marching, screaming, and holding the flag, I thought to myself "can this really be Egypt’s tipping point?" At this moment, nothing could stop us, even when the police used tear gas. I never felt stronger, better, or more Egyptian. We were excited, not afraid; confident, not dismayed, and so hopeful.
When I returned home and was again in my room, I started to hear more and more gunfire from outside and started to smell tear gas. Before we could even wonder about the exact source of these noises, we heard some neighbors screaming and asking for help and a doctor. "They shot him!" someone screamed. Seconds later, we were all coughing from the smoke coming from the nearby police station. We learned that, after many clashes with the police, and after the police had used guns against them, some people had set fire to it. It was unbelievably terrible. Unfortunately, the same scenario happened all over Egypt, and by nightfall most police stations and some of the national party headquarters were burned. Things were happening so fast that there was absolutely no room –or voice- for questions. "Blood, gun fire, and burning…Am I in Afghanistan?" I asked myself.
After a very long and hectic day, President Mubarak’s address showed us that our voices had not yet been loud enough. He only changed the government and had somehow ignored the million voices calling out for changes in the constitution and emergency law, and more importantly, the big demand of wanting him to leave. His stubbornness pushed us, whom the government was now calling the "Facebook Generation", to persist and be even more determined. I must admit though that the government was supportive in proving us right as it continued blocking all internet service throughout Egypt – leaving us all sadly isolated, but unwaveringly resolute to keep on.
On Saturday evening, frightening stories about the release of prisoners uncontrollably spread through the media, and gangs, on motorbikes and in cars, started roaming the streets, and robbing supermarkets, malls and houses. At this point, there were no police at all in the country, no fire departments, and no one to call for help in such a shocking emergency – even most of the young men were out in protests and thus were unable to help. Now, that was real turmoil; hearing nothing but screaming and crying and unknown gunfire. Everyone was terrified. Now, that was the scariest moment of my life.
However, mosques around Alexandria started calling on young men over loudspeakers. All the women started calling their sons and husbands to leave the protest and come protect us. It was amazing. This was the real Egyptian spirit I was pining for – not just marching the streets, not just standing up and saying no when it is hard - but actually standing up all night armed with guns, clubs or knives ready to protect ourselves from anyone who dares to come and attack our neighborhood. The scene from my balcony was never more incredible.
People organized themselves into groups: some went to the protest again, others protected my neighborhood's borders, and others simply organized a campfire and made cakes. Nobody slept the whole night – we literally turned the street into a park for camping and football; we knew we were in danger, but we just wanted to be happy and really protect ourselves till the very last point… My best friend Menna called to joke that Mubarak probably did not understand our modern Arabic, for he has not been inside of Egypt for quite some time.
That night, one man told me, "(Mubarak) ordered the police to let prisoners escape, hoping we would stop marching and go protect our homes. Then, he used hired thugs and told them to attack us … but we won't stop until he leaves!" After that our protests just grew bigger and tenser; "leave… now!" we said in all languages hoping he'd get the message, but apparently we still had not found the language he understood.
On Wednesday, Mubarak finally spoke for the second time and promised that he would not run for a new term as president. This time, his speech was so eloquent and expressive that some of my neighbors, who originally opposed him, earnestly shed tears. My grandmother cried. Egyptians are emotional by nature and because his speech was so emotional, I believe that is why some went out to support him the next day. They were really charmed by his speech.
At this point, we were running out of cash and food, and some were not ready to take the risk of giving up their previous so-called "stability", not to mention the increasing fear of having the army inside of the country and living under a curfew. "We are tired… we want Mubarak; we want our secure lives back," my neighbor said.
But was she right? If Mubarak did not intend to run for a new term, why did he not say this in his first speech? If our national channels were really honest about the Muslim Brotherhood taking over, why did I see many secular people and Christians marching? Why, when members of the Muslim Brotherhood tried to take over the protest, did we scream at them and ask them to step down immediately? (Which they did). And why also were there anti-Mubarak rap and dancing? (Things the Muslim Brotherhood wouldn't approve of)
If our government is the most democratic, why could we not get access to internet and why were our phones disrupted? If our police are nonviolent, why did I smell tear gas and why were people killed and wounded? If Mubarak dismissed the government, appointed a new vice president, promised constitutional reforms, and even promised not to stand for re-election, why did we continue our marching against him?
The answer is simple: We lost trust. We had been waiting for years for the government to make changes, but were repeatedly disappointed. This time we: poor and rich, Christian and Muslim, man and woman, young and old, finally left our houses in the hope of making a concrete difference and screaming out "game over!"We faced many obstacles, from food to personal safety to chaos, that might have hampered our efforts and even torn Egypt apart, but these obstacles just created a closer-knit community and a deeper aspiration to continue to say "No! We’ve had enough!"
Egypt was dead before this; now we were talking; writing, arguing... disagreeing... we could offend and get offended - this was democracy. During these days of persistence, I lost all focus on my studies. I could only think of nothing but marching and arguing and screaming, “Leave, Leave.” On the Wednesday, February 9 protest, I held up a sign that said: “Mubarak, please leave soon…I have physics and biology to study.”
But, on February 10, my humor faded. The day before, Mubarak had rejected our demands again and I started to feel guilty from the tons of Facebook statuses people were writing about how wrong we were to march. I grew so depressed, I stopped my emails and Facebook and phone and was going to pack and leave to my grandmother's house where there was no internet or phone or any one to make me feel guilty about my ideas. People around me were pushing against me so hard, that I started to doubt and re-consider all my actions. Someone told me I was an "American spy" while others said we were the reason for the killing of innocent people. Another woman simply screamed at me to stop!
On the morning of February 11, I felt suffocated and couldn’t find anyone to talk to. There was a crazy mood in the air. Everyone around me was scared and nobody was talking. I couldn’t study and I couldn’t get my mind off what was happening. Some of my friends were in Tahrir square and I was worried for them. My father insisted I not leave the house and I felt torn and confused as I read about the terrible economic situation. However, I decided to leave the house one more time, because I knew I would be psychologically sick if I stayed in that situation. Mostly I wanted to believe that I was doing the right thing for my country.
Then it happened. He resigned! The only thing I could do was shout “Congratulations! I love Egypt! I love Egyptians. I love us! We made history!” My best friend, Menna and I went and celebrated for three hours. We walked all the way home from the celebration to our houses, sang, and held the flag and danced. Egypt was all awake and happy and everyone (even those who said we were wrong) was excited. It was a new birthday for a brand new Egypt.
I can only think of a modified version of Gandhi’s quote to express what has happened in my country. First they ignore you, then they listen but pretend they don’t understand, then they fight you, then they try to kill you, then they ask you to negotiate—and finally YOU WIN!
MAY ALLAH BLESS YOU
YOUR TEACHER
THANKS
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