Of being a YoYo

 “And how do you feel about the sad things happening in Egypt? ” My kind friends and acquaintances in UK always ask me about my dear country and are really affected by what they see on TV. Egypt, for them, is a country whose history fascinated them since school time and perhaps a place where they had a good holiday. Moreover, it is a country that inspired them when Egypt’ amazing youth led a peaceful revolution in January 2011.

After June 30^th, I have told everyone I met that Egyptians are changing dictatorship regime through their own way of democracy, that the ballot box is not the only way, and that Morsi damaged Egypt and therefore people wanted to stop him and his clan from ruining the country before it is too late. I have even said that the army did not start a coup but intervened on behalf of the people.

I still say that but I cannot help feeling frustrated that death has become a number-just a number. How can these numbers help to achieve the calls of January 25^th: bread, freedom, social justice, and human dignity? For me, the fundamental spirit of Jan 2011 is that the life and dignity of any human has a value not just for immediate family but for society and for the rulers.

Yet what I hear (not only on twitter but from ordinary people) are calls for immediate revenge.  I always felt that as Egyptians we are very “either or” nation: if you disagree with me, then you are in the wrong. But this has moved fast from “your are wrong” to “you are my enemy” to “you should be shot -sometimes without even a trial!”. Disapproving the state killing of MBs sparks an immediate accusation of being an MB or one of their “sleeping cells or a “human rights softy”. Needless to say that expressing support for killed soldiers ignites an accusation of being an “army arse licker”.

My thoughtful friend described the situation as “now the abscesses have been lanced, we need to deal with the out-pouring of poison and the lengthy process of purification.” When I said that the lancing was accompanied by too much blood due to “bad old equipment”, my friend said that it was what we had and that other options were not successful.  

As I read and hear people’s comments and views, I go silent. Being away from the middle of events makes me cautious not to “judge from my arm chair”. Perhaps if I were in the middle of Cairo I would accept more blood? Or perhaps I would speak against it with more credibility. I do not know. I am physically here in UK but mentally and spiritually somewhere wondering in the streets of Cairo and of my home town. In my home town my heart refuses to cry over the ruins of places that have important value in my life. Instead it keeps searching for ways to turn the hatred and animosity to something near “tolerance”. My mind still dreams of dignity for the poor girls who struggle to find a place that can be a toilet, for poor women who don’t know how to feed the kids tomorrow, and for the youth who want to speak without fear of being killed or going to prison.

So answering my friends’ question: I am a yoyo: down when I wake up to news of killings and up if there was no blood that morning. Yet despite everything gloomy happening, I am really optimistic that tomorrow will be better than today-perhaps not exactly tomorrow but the day after.