In her mid-70s Madam Kamel — she gave only her husband's name — newly coiffed and wearing a string of pearls and matching earrings, walked determinedly down Mirghani Street towards Al-Ittihadiya presidential palace. She held the national flag in one hand and clinched the other upwards chanting “Erhal” (leave) in a shaky voice. President Mohamed Morsi must go, she said, because “he has proved incompetent and has only dragged Egypt into a gloomy abyss”. “I will not leave until he leaves,” she said. They were sentiments shared by all the protesters gathered around Al-Ittihadiya on 30 June. The protesters came from different areas, age groups and from across the social spectrum. They had been impatiently waiting since Tamarod campaign announced the first anniversary of Morsi becoming president would be the day he'd be toppled by people power. Around Al-Ittihadiya social divisions melted. People were together, walking and talking. An old woman was being pushed in a wheelchair, and an elderly man with a cane marched slowly, but tirelessly. They chanted in one voice and when they were tired sat side by side on the pavements. The mood at Al-Ittihadiya was festive. The chants of “leave” and “the people want the regime down” were serious, yet there was an air of celebration. Fireworks were let off sporadically as the chants of Erhal echoed nonstop. “However long it takes Morsi, we will not go home until early presidential elections are called,” a veiled girl in her 20s told her friend to the nodding of those around her. “Steadfast and standby,” she giggled. “Then we can kiss the Muslim Brotherhood goodbye.” “The Muslim Brotherhood will not rule us Egyptians anymore. They can take their extremism and terrorist ideology elsewhere, our freedom and dignity will not be compromised,” said a woman holding the hands of her two children, each holding a flag. The woman's words hit a nerve with all those around her. Before they knew it they had formed a circle discussing the necessity of ousting Morsi before the country degenerated further. “Fuel and electricity problems, the River Nile that we're losing, Sinai that is becoming home to terrorists, the collapsing economy, and all because of Morsi and his group,” a middle aged man told the circle. His veiled daughter continued: “Our personal freedom is on the line here. No Islamist extremists will tell us how to dress or lock us up at home.” As the newfound friends, including this reporter, continued down Mirghani Street a protest from Salah Salem Street was joining the rally. Demonstrators carried red cards with the words “Leave, you loser” as they chanted for the toppling of Morsi, “puppet of the Muslim Brotherhood's supreme guide”. Approaching Al-Ittihadiya by sundown sentiments grew stronger and voices louder. They were deafening as helicopters appeared over the palace to be greeted by cheers. Green laser beams were immediately pointed at the helicopters — a message of gratitude from the people. (The next day the Armed Forces released a statement on social networks thanking protesters for their “generous” welcome and politely urging them against this hazardous gesture). Perhaps it was the feeling of security which the Armed Forces provided that encouraged people to take to the streets in their millions. Men escorted their families, mothers their children. Groups of friends and distant relatives converged on Al-Ittihadiya without a grain of fear despite attempts by Islamists to scare people away by spreading news of possible terrorist acts in places where rallies against Morsi were due to be held, and pulling the rug from beneath scare-mongering headlines in state-owned newspapers, like the Arabic daily Al-Ahram whose banner on Sunday read, “Egypt in the grip of fear”. They could not have got it more wrong. Marches poured towards the presidential palace from every direction. At one point marches from Tahrir Square welded with rallies in Abbasiya to form a huge march extending from Tahrir to Al-Ittihadiya (12km). The rallies were all peaceful. Al-Ittihadiya, on 30 June, was a massive ball. International estimates put the number of anti-Morsi protesters on 30 June at approximately 33 million. The BBC reported it as “the largest number of protesters in a political event in the history of mankind”.
THE DAY AFTER: Following the declaration of a sit-in the majority of anti-Morsi protesters left in the wee hours of the morning. Others preferred to make Mirghani Street their home until the toppling of Morsi. Until noon, a few thousand had gathered, though numbers were increasing by the hour. When the Armed Forces released its first communiqué at 4:30pm giving a 48-hour ultimatum to fulfil the protesters' demands after which the army would impose its own roadmap to break the political deadlock Al-Ittihadiya sprang back into life. Millions converged back to press for the toppling of Morsi. Erhal, they roared. The numbers exceeded the day before and the mood was even more jubilant. Five stages were erected for artists, poets and stand-up comedians. National songs blasted from loudspeakers. The general mood was that “it's done. Morsi is gone”. “The next 48 hours could hold a lot but the Armed Forces will make sure that if Morsi doesn't comply with our demands the army will take over,” Salah Mustafa, 29, said. Mustafa and others' faith that the army will keep its word was the main reason Egyptians were celebrating. The 22 million Tamarod signatories, the tens of millions that poured onto the streets, are evidence of a people who have become, in Mustafa's words, “fed up of an extremist organisation hungry for power and an Islamist president who wore the mask of civil rule”. They are the flagbearers of a nation that will not let go of dignity and freedom.
