Rasha Sadek speaks with those who have vowed to stay in the famed square until the revolution attains its goals -- however long it takes In Tahrir Square, in a tent barely large enough for a grown man to curl up inside, lives Mohamed Attian. On 25 January 2011, Attian, like many other protesters, went to the square. But unlike them, he never left. Among the "Tahrir community" he is known as the Father of the Revolutionaries, and not only because of his visible wisdom and firm faith in the goals of the revolution -- "bread, freedom and social justice". His messages of both warning and advice, which he writes on colourful placards and posts all over his shabby tent, are addressed to all his fellow revolutionaries who anxiously await them. The father of nine well-educated young men and women, Attian is in his late 60s, a peasant who hails from Kafr Al-Sheikh governorate. Clad in a dark galabeya and black cloak, he's the modest Egyptian everyman. His immense affection for his country is obvious. "All the people are my sons and daughters," he never tires of repeating in a calm, low, soothing voice. A few metres away, in front of Mugamma Al-Tahrir, stands Magdi Iskandar's tent. It's no bigger than Attian's, though it may be even more worn and battered. Iskandar, a 65-year-old electrician from Assiut, is celebrated in the square as the Father of the Martyr. His son Mina, 28, was killed by what he refers to as "a stray shot" by a police officer three days after the revolution started. It was the Friday of Anger and Mina was closing his shop in the Sharabiya district. At that time his father was already in Tahrir. He has remained there ever since. Iskandar's memory is an archive of the revolution in its own right. In a loud, angry tone, he speaks of the atrocities he witnessed in and around Tahrir during the Battle of the Camel, as well as the incidents in Mohamed Mahmoud, Al-Qasr Al-Aini and other notorious places. Each time, he cites the date and the hour, and gives the facts and the figures. For the Father of the Martyr, achieving justice for his son is a goal he has not allowed to overshadow his tireless enthusiasm for the larger goals of the revolution. All over his tent are signs addressed to the ruler, who is now Mohamed Mursi, and before him, to the military council, urging them to try the former regime and work for social justice. The two fathers went to Tahrir Square at the onset of the revolution. And neither of them will leave until the goals of the revolution are attained. 'The revolution is leaderless' ... 'This is why we failed' "Today, Egypt is in mourning, crying for her sons who died, and her sons who live", reads the latest sign Mohamed Attian plastered on his tent in Tahrir Square. It's late in the afternoon and Attian has just taken a nap, not the least minding the noises of one of Egypt's busiest squares. To him, it's home. The square is also home to a revolution that took place 19 months ago but, according to him, "hasn't achieved its goals. The day you don't find me here, know that the revolution has succeeded or I'm dead," Attian, tall, thin yet strong, with piercing coloured eyes, said. With a defying determination to educate the youth of the revolution about the dangers planned against them, Attian goes about his daily life talking to Tahrir dwellers about the importance of leaving political affiliations aside and concentrating on uniting forces. "Free people of the world, it is not the fault of dictatorial regimes, but that of the ignorance of peoples," is another mantra Attian repeats. "There is only one way for the country to pass through this bottleneck: the youth have to unite. Before anything else, think of Egypt. This is why I write these placards," Attian points to one sign he holds in his hand. "My sons and daughters, you are the present and future of Egypt. Beware, wounded wolves want to drag you into a civil war. Don't allow them to use you as a tool to achieve their purpose. Stick together to achieve the goals of your revolution. With love, your father, Mohamed Attian." The Father of the Revolutionaries thinks that "we've been fooled." "The revolution has died," he stated in a defeated tone. "Those hungry for power killed it, and they were aided by the people who sold out their votes and forgot about their cause." It was in July that Attian declared the revolution dead, after "the 13 presidential candidates left the square to run after political gains. The presidency was the knock-out for the revolution because they competed against the cronies of a regime that the revolution came to topple in the first place. This way, they gave legitimacy to those who should now be behind bars. Hence, the status quo." Attian didn't cast his ballot in the presidential elections because he wanted the contenders to "lead the revolution before becoming leaders of the country. Had we achieved the goals of the revolution and arrived safely on the shores of justice, equality, love and peace, anyone who is truly affectionate about Egypt could have become president -- even you," he said, pointing at this reporter. "This is the mistake President Mohamed Mursi made. Had he accepted to stay in Tahrir and lead the revolution until it succeeded, he would have won the support of most Egyptians. But he was sworn into office in front of the former regime that didn't put on trial those who murdered the revolution's martyrs, thereby creating a state within a state. Now Mursi is president of one faction, not all Egyptians." For Attian, the revolution has 10 goals to achieve, foremost among them providing employment and setting the minimum wage at LE3,000 and the maximum at LE12,000. "Now that everybody is complaining about thuggery and insecurity, if every unemployed young man gets a decent job for LE3,000 and was provided with a house, a wife and a family, no one is going to think about killing or stealing," Attian believes. "In the same manner, if the maximum wage is LE12,000, how much are we going to save for the state treasury to pay debts and to dispense with foreign loans?" The other demands of the revolution, according to Attian, are: "restructuring state institutions; a strong comeback for the public sector and ending feudalism; putting on trial all the corrupt officials of the former regime; recovering state money from abroad and extraditing runaways; making available different products without a middleman; terminating drug trafficking; and enforcing maximum penalty on infidels." A middle-aged woman in a black galabeya cuts in. "May I have a loaf of bread, father?" Attian gives her two. She's not one of the Father of the Revolutionaries' nine children, but to him "all are my sons and daughters, regardless of their political or religious affiliations." The woman goes back to her modest tea stand, serving passers-by in the square. "Love and peace have become a rare currency. But I can't blame the young generation, for they are the victims of the former corrupt regime," Attian says in defence of those who thought the army was the enemy. "The army is made up of Egypt's sons. How can we hate them? It's true that inside the military council there's a number of generals who should be tried, but the soldiers are not to blame." Attian continues despondently: "Hate is spreading like a cancer. Between and within the Islamists and liberals, the Muslims and Christians, all have become divided." Attian remembers the days when religion wasn't an issue to contend with. "Egypt has always received all nationalities and all religions with open arms, but the recent sectarian clashes are evidence that dark powers are working for the destruction of the country. Originally, no Muslim dared attack a Christian, or vice versa." At the popular funeral in March of Pope Shenouda III, patriarch of the Coptic Orthodox Church, Attian joined the crowds. "The pope was a true patriotic man. He did a lot of good things for the country and its people. It's so sad we lost him." The Father of the Revolutionaries wishes to see Egypt a civil state. "We don't need Islamist rule. We are a religious people by nature. A civil state doesn't mean that we are going to forget about religion... I don't want somebody to put a sword to my neck in order to pray." The thing that pains Attian the most is the people who lost their lives, or their limbs, in the course of the revolution. "I wish I could avenge them all," he sighs. "But at the end of the day, we are willing to sacrifice anything for this country. Egypt deserves much better than this." Magdi Iskandar is sweeping the floor around his tent in Tahrir Square. As far as he's concerned this is his home and he keeps it clean. Although it seems he's concentrating on his work, his mind is actually elsewhere. "I will not leave Tahrir until justice is achieved for my son, Mina. He's a martyr of the revolution and I want a certificate saying he was killed by a stray bullet from a police officer. I want to be able, in the future, to answer to my grandson, now a little over a year, about what happened to his father. I want to tell him 'your father's rights were not lost'," said Iskandar, working the broom even faster. In Tahrir Square, Iskandar is known as the Father of the Martyr. "Mina's rights will not be claimed until the revolution attains its goals," said Iskandar, sad and angry. Abu Mina, as he likes to be called, spends his days in Tahrir chronicling the revolution since day one. Now he's writing his ninth notebook. His strong memory captures the attention of passers-by and Tahrir residents. When the Father of the Martyr speaks, people gather to listen. "On 25 January 2011, like everybody else, I came to Tahrir for 'bread, freedom and social justice'. I wanted the gap between rich and poor to become narrower. I come from the poor working class. At my old age now, my pension has grown from LE60 five years ago to just LE95 a month." Iskandar's pitch goes higher as he continues: "The revolution was hijacked in February 2011 when it wore the military attire. In July this year, it took off the military uniform and put on the religious attire. We're in for Joseph's seven years of famine. And there will be blood," Iskandar's restless hands are raised, as well as his voice. "The revolution is like a train. The Muslim Brotherhood and Salafis took the first and second class vehicles. Those running after some political gains took the third class. The revolutionaries found no place on the train except in the baggage compartment." What about the military? "They took the carte blanche." Abu Mina wished liberals Khaled Ali or Hamdeen Sabahi had won the presidential race. To him, the Muslim Brotherhood are "hungry for power and thirsty for authority". He anticipates that now that the country is ruled by a president with a Muslim Brotherhood background, the prevalent concept will be "those who are not with us are against us." Abu Mina foresees "oppression of personal liberties and the freedom of the press. Each word written in newspapers will be first reviewed by the [Muslim Brotherhood's] Guidance Bureau." During and after the 18 days of revolt, Abu Mina was entrusted by non-governmental organisations to distribute blankets among the revolutionaries sitting-in in Tahrir Square. Those were his best days, he says. His worst night, however, was on 30 January 2011 when "snipers atop buildings were killing the young people in the square. We would see the green laser dot on a fellow revolutionary, we run towards him, but before we get there he'd already fallen in his own pool of blood. That night, we were like puppets on a string. Cut the string and the puppet falls." Suddenly Abu Mina's voice was not so loud and his hands were not flying everywhere. "That night was worse than the day we in the army crossed the Bar Lev Line in 1973. I was sprayed with napalm on my chest by an Israeli soldier. All I cared about then was to capture that Israeli before he sprayed another Egyptian soldier. I killed him but I couldn't put my hands on those snipers." Another sad day Abu Mina remembers was when Sheikh Emad Effat, an esteemed Al-Azhar cleric, was shot by a live bullet in the heart on 16 December 2011. "We were at the Cabinet area and thugs atop the Al-Qasr Al-Aini Street buildings were throwing stones and pointed rocks at protesters who had to eventually retaliate. Sheikh Effat was among the protesters raising his hands urging them to stop. The revolutionaries loved and listened to him. But that's when he was shot. He was smiling when his soul left his body. I was there." Abu Mina engages in a short conversation with a group of people who visit him periodically to check up on him. They had just come back from an anti-Muslim Brotherhood demonstration at the presidential palace in Heliopolis. "Unfortunately, those in Heliopolis will not succeed," the old man states. "Our fault is that we don't have a leader that we can follow. This is why we failed." The Father of the Martyr believes that what the Arab world has witnessed wasn't an "Arab Spring". Rather, "Arab countries have been plagued by an 'Islamist Spring', and it will not be easy to get rid of it." He adds, "the problem is not with Islam, it is with those who take it as a means to attain political gains." Abu Mina alternates between verses from the Quran and the Bible to drive the point home. "All I want now is justice. Without it the country will only go downhill."
