Sometimes I get the feeling that in Egypt the citizens and the governmental powers are living in two separate but parallel universes, that rarely have occasion to touch one another. A few days ago, I read a quote from one of Egypt's most senior officials, who assured the public that Egypt's leaders at the very highest levels are "living among people on a daily basis" and in touch with their needs and concerns, and that the people's problems are being solved upon the commands from the top. This is the kind of empty and paternalistic platitude that we hear all the time from the Government, so it is usually easy to gloss over these meaningless words. But for some reason this time, I found the words to be offensive because they are so patently untrue. It simply beggars belief that a representative of the Government could say that with a straight face. The question that rose to my mind was is he lying to himself or to us? Even I, as a foreign resident of Egypt, know these words are not true. Those at the top are not only highly protected and separated from the average person on the street, but their status, wealth and lifestyles all but guarantee that what they know of daily concerns will be vastly, if not completely, different from the majority of the population. If they were really living daily life as most Egyptians are, I personally think that the persistence and lack of change of Egypt's social problems might be affected. One physical manifestation of this imposed separation is the tashrifa, a sort of ceremonial convoy or motorcade that allows Egypt's most senior officials, ministers and the President (along with important State visitors) to move in the streets unimpeded by vehicular or pedestrian traffic. Cairo's already terrible traffic can be blocked, re-routed and delayed for an unpredictable and variable amount of time while the President or some other high-level officials move from one place to another. In addition to delays while streets are blockaded, a tashrifa is characterised by the presence of large numbers of armed security personnel lining the streets, including a number of military police, Presidential guards and secret service men. I live in Masr Al Gedida, right off Salah Salem road, and so I experience these tashrifat very often myself. Since the presidential residence and numerous strategic military sites are located off this major thoroughfare, and it is also the route to the airport, I am often stuck with all the other "ordinary people" in cars, buses and microbuses who are just trying to go about their business. It is often the joke in my neighbourhood when the traffic on Salah Salem comes to a standstill that "a VIP must be crossing the street". There are certainly valid reasons that high-profile political figures, like celebrities, might need some protection, and it is known that one of the costs of a public position in the lack of the ability to move freely like a normal citizen, and do the things that normal people do. However, the extreme security measures that I see almost seem to indicate a fear of the public, as well as a sense of entitlement and the ability to rise above the conditions in the street that the rest of us must grimly endure. This is just one example of the ways that Egypt's powers-that-be are by no means living the people's lives with them, but a nearly equivalent level of disconnection could be observed in nearly every other aspect of daily life, from education, to access to healthcare, to financial means, and the ability to provide a basic decent standard of living for the family. I also thought of Tabakh Al-Rayes (The President's Cook), a 2008 Egyptian comedy film that is screened regularly on television and so I have seen several times. The lead character Metwali is a cook who vends from a street cart, a sort of Everyman figure, who through a highly unlikely series of events becomes the President's personal chef. The President in the movie is completely protected by the Prime Minister and others around him from walking in the streets, from hearing about people's problems, even from knowing how much the price of a plate of koshary has gone up. Because of their proximity and Metwali's disarming and likeable personality, the cook and the President develop a rapport. The President has for the first time the opportunity to hear about people's opinions, wants and needs. Metwali cannot help himself but tell the President the truth. He is constantly under fire from the Prime Minister not to "bother the President with these trivial matters", such as wrongfully experiencing police brutality when he was caught without his national ID card during a random security check of a microbus. In one memorable scene, the President asks Metwali to bring him a loaf of Government-subsidised bread, so he can see what the majority of Egyptians are eating. Once he has tried it himself, the President invites all of the Cabinet ministers to a lunch featuring this bread and other foods that are within the means of Egyptians. The officials attempt to buy Metwali's complicit silence by providing him and his wife with an apartment and other material rewards, such as wrongfully experiencing police brutality when he was caught without his national ID card during a random security check of a microbus. Eventually he is removed from his dangerous proximity to the President by the Prime Minister and his cronies, who show the President a false lab test that said he had a contagious illness. Although the film is a comedy and makes its points with humour, the final scene of the movie is sad and depressing. Awakening from a dream of being able to talk to the President, Metwali heads in his pajamas to try and see the President in person again, and is met at the gate at gunpoint. The movie ends with Metwali lying on the grass of Tahrir Square at dawn, gazing up at a billboard that shows a larger-than-life image of the President smiling and waving to an imaginary public, the Everyman reduces to looking up at an image of his leader. Based on my personal and first-hand observations of what the concerns of Egyptians are in their daily lives, I have some suggestions of guaranteed ways for any high-level politician or elected official to really live the people's lives, along with them. They can do the following: • Send their kids to Government schools and/or pay for private lessons to keep up a minimum standard of education • Budget for daily food and other expenses when salaries have not kept up with the costs of basic commodities • Take the bus – or the microbus – to work and back, preferably during peak commuting hours. • Drive a cab after their ‘day job', at night, to pick some extra money to make ends meet • Go to the doctor, and then fail to get a prescription filled or do follow-up tests because of the additional expenses involved • Lay awake at night and worry about how you can help your child to get married when there is no affordable housing to be found If I see that the highest levels of Government in Egypt are experiencing any of these things in their daily lives, then I will believe that they are truly living people's lives along with them, and are intent on addressing the concerns of the average Egyptian. [email protected] Smith is an American writer living and working in Cairo.
