Egypt has had Islamists and “revolutionaries”. So who are the nukhba or elite routinely denigrated as a “minority” that “looks down on the people”? Educated individuals, non-Islamist political leaders, the catalysts of the revolution itself… But, in the political context, this group is to all intents synonymous with the cultural community. As per the tradition, which long predates the Arab Spring, writers, artists, scholars and critics often double as political activists/analysts and vice versa; and in this sense much of “the civil current” (anything from far-right conservative to radical anarchist) is made up of “the elite” — of intellectuals. Construed as a political player, the cultural community in Egypt has been the principal challenge to the Islamists since January-February 2011, when the revolution took place — an understandably weak rival among the uneducated, materialistic and sectarian masses. Yet how has the cultural community dealt with the revolution regardless of this fact, assuming that what took place really was a revolution? Considering that the speaker belongs in that community, however reluctantly, the answer will be a kind of testimony. It is up to the disentangled listener to make up their mind about imagination, politics, identity and the role of the Intellectual: an unduly popular theme since long before the revolution. In the last two years, the meaning of each has changed repeatedly; and, as guardians of such values, intellectuals were forced to reinvent themselves in new, unstable contexts — something that has tested their creativity, integrity, sense of belonging and worth. It would be easy to regurgitate platitudes to the effect that, as conscious agents, “we” were defeated yet again in the fight to spread enlightenment — which is good, and eliminate backwardness — which is bad, aiming towards social consciousness in the underdeveloped society-cum-postcolonial state in which we live. As activists, theorists, historians and politicians, however, how can we be sure that our enlightenment isn't a symptom of the very backwardness we think we're fighting? Since the dawn of modern Egypt under Mohamed Ali Pasha, after all, the very existence of a cultural community has been subsidised/tolerated, and the range of its action delimited, by the (military, anyway non-intellectual) powers that be. What took place in January-February 2011 was a revolution insofar as it achieved regime change, however unlike its champions are the beneficiaries. In practise, of course, the nukhba — where it did not actively seek alliances with political Islam or otherwise condone its undemocratic practises — failed to show enough belief in the possibility of a viable alternative distinct from “the first republic”. This is not to say that, as the “ruler” at the helm of “the second republic”, the MB is not in most ways an extension of the Mubarak regime. But, unlike the nukhba, political Islam had established itself as the well-meaning underdog — a ploy even the nukhba itself seemed to fall for. But the underdog ploy could not in itself explain why, when we had the opportunity to help establish a functional democratic state in place of the dysfunctional quasi-military dictatorship we've had since the early 1950s, what we did, consciously or unconsciously, was to help establish the even more dysfunctional quasi-theocratic dictatorship now emerging. In the same way as political Islam has continued to play the role of opposition even after it came to power, intellectuals seem to thrive on the absence of the social consciousness they purport to work for. It's this absence that makes them look useful, after all, saving them the trouble of asking how, without either killing themselves/emigrating or openly giving up all pretensions of a role/all socially “committed” activity, they might remain relevant to society. The failure of the cultural community to make use of young people's sacrifices — to take social-political initiative, adopt a clear moral stance or seriously revise half a century's worth of historical “givens” — should illustrate how. In the course of regime change, “enlightenment” has cast the intellectual in one or more of their accepted roles: as conscience of the nation, as voice of the people or as prophet of better times. In each case the intellectual not only failed at their role but also actively compromised it, partly because the rhetoric attached to the process of engagement, which the intellectual as a rule will prioritise over the process itself, tends to be irrational, self-contradictory or absurd. Too often that rhetoric is at once progressive and conservative, idealistic and pragmatic, moral and insincere — “poetic” in the worst (Arab) sense. What is presented as a cause — Palestine, for example — is in fact a festering status quo. Commitment to the Palestinian question was for decades on end a pretext for the worst forms of repression in much of the Arab world; and how exactly has that benefited Palestinians? As in all discourses that apologise for totalitarian measures or tendencies, euphemism abounds. Social unity through wasati or moderate as opposed to ussouli or fundamentalist Islam, for example, has helped shift the emphasis away from universal rights and freedoms to a normative, sect-based (and, as it turns out, completely fantastical) status quo. As the catchword of that faction of formerly/nominally left-wing intellectuals who have supported the ex-Muslim Brotherhood leader, presidential candidate Abdel-Moneim Abul-Fotouh and/or his subsequently established Strong Egypt Party, wasati has in effect extended the space in which fundamentalist dictatorship is to be taken for granted. Likewise, instead of appeasing the Salafis — its avowed reason — the decision to replace almani or “secular” with madani or “civil” in early campaigns helped to confirm the idea that the former word is in fact a synonym for “atheist” or, as a Salafi would put it, “apostate”, ceding the Salafis even more ground without granting “us” any more popularity or credibility among the Islamist-sympathetic grassroots. For its part the discourse of “social justice” championed by (among others) the Nasserist presidential candidate Hamdeen Sabahi, while reflecting an age-old obsession with class, fails to improve on Gamal Abdel-Nasser's more or less catastrophic legacy of state control; it does not address the issue of where wealth will come from, let alone the effectual means to its redistribution… As conscience of the nation, the nukhba betrayed its role early on. Starting with the referendum on constitutional amendments that practically gave the Supreme Council of the Armed Forces (SCAF) absolute power in March 2011 — and whose “yes” result Islamist forces were instrumental in obtaining — the cultural community condoned, participated in and often promoted the kind of “democratic” process undertaken with totalitarian intent. As a result, both the parliamentary and presidential elections were held in the absence of a constitution, and the vote-based process whereby political Islam aims to eliminate democracy is already underway. Serving SCAF and MB interests and alliances, these “democratic weddings” took place under bloody circumstances, if not actually (as in the case of the parliamentary elections) directly at the expense of young protesters' blood. Considering the MB's underdog appeal and its tribal (increasingly ruling party-style) hold on much of the countryside, not to mention the Gulf's Wahhabi influence on the culture, with vast numbers of susceptible Egyptians importing backward practices from their place of work on the Arabian peninsula — the pro-Islamist results of ballot-only democracy are a forgone conclusion. (I believe this holds for the constitutional referendum, whose results are to be announced.) Instead of exposing such travesties of democratic process for what they are — by, at least, refusing to be part of them — each time the cultural community, including not only politically aware “revolutionaries” but, most recently, the openly anti-MB National Salvation Front — reverted to proactive and community-aware attitudes which, dictating a game whose rules “we” already knew to be unfair, was bound to serve Islamist interests. In so doing the nukhba also gave credence to the increasingly untenable assumption that what has been happening is political participation. Had the protesters of 25 January-11 February played by the rules set by the Mubarak regime and SCAF — as their “oppositional” predecessors had been doing for decades — no revolution would have occurred at all. Undertaken on the scale of “the revolution”, a rigorous boycott of all such events — which would be the correct stance from the moral and “revolutionary” standpoint while not necessarily undermining the social status quo or being any less pragmatic as a course of action — might have stopped the forward march of the Dark Ages in its tracks, or at least presented it with a significant obstacle. If nothing else, it would have given meaning to a string of million-man demonstrations whose demands, while sometimes just as bloody and authoritarian in their way as the policies of the powers that be, were always muddled and unclear. If it isn't the job of the conscience of the nation embodied in the icons of the revolution to give the lie to such the ballot box as a means to dictatorship, I don't know what is. Yet, having agreed to enter the presidential race in the absence of a constitution determining their powers — and this is but one example of the nukhba failing to be consistent enough to act as its own conscience, let alone that of any nation — both Abul-Fotouh and Sabahi were happy to lead a million-man demonstration protesting against the results of the first round, which narrowed down the choice to the representative of the former regime, Ahmed Shafik, and the MB's second choice, Mohamed Morsi. Neither Abul-Fotouh nor Sabahi showed the least respect for the democratic process of which they had agreed to be part, nor the least concern about the rise to power of the MB through Morsi; apart from bolstering up the chances of the latter and helping identify the anti-nukhba MB with a revolution instigated by the nukhba, that million-man demonstration served no purpose whatsoever. Now that the MB has virtually declared civil war on its opponents, who might be the people in whose name the nukhba prophesied better times after SCAF? Surely they are the ones who, while protesting against Morsi's singularly autocratic, blast-the-judiciary constitutional declaration of 22 November 2012 (a typically MB manoeuvre to speed up the completion of and pass the Islamist-dominated draft constitution), were attacked/murdered, arrested and tortured by MB members and Salafis in no way officially affiliated with government institutions — and if not for the courage of individual prosecutors would have been framed for thuggery as well. Guided if not by their nukhba than by “revolutionary” ideas in which the nukhba had trafficked, many of these protesters had actually voted for Morsi. When the people were able to force Hosni Mubarak to step down after 30 years in power, the people were a unified entity, unequivocally synonymous not only with “the revolutionaries” in Tahrir Square but also, very significantly, with the nukhba that had blessed their being there, the cultural community. Since that moment we have come a long way, especially in the light of the by now absurd statement that (as the slogan has it) “the revolution continues”: al-thawra musstamirra. Now the most we can do, whether as revolutionaries or intellectuals, is to vote no in the referendum on a constitution that compromises some of the most basic rights and promises to turn Egypt into both a worse presidential dictatorship than it was under Mubarak and a Sunni-style “Islamic republic” — its drafting, thanks in part to our failure to boycott parliamentary elections, having been monopolised by Islamists — a referendum whose ultimate result, due as much to our dithering and lack of imagination as to Islamist power, influence and politicking, will almost certainly be a “yes” vote. Being the champions who have not managed to become beneficiaries even in the most noble sense, indeed in some cases being the very (presumably involuntary) instruments of political Islam, how are we to see ourselves two years after the fact? Not in the kind of light that obscures the possibility that the pose we adopt, our role, might be simply that: an affectation that helps us with upward mobility and individual self-esteem, but whose social-cultural function — like political Islam, identity-driven, with a chip on its shoulder vis-à-vis the former coloniser — is ultimately to legitimise systematic incompetence, economic dependence and sectarian tribalism.
