Describing the state of Egypt in a recent TV interview, a wise man observed that Egyptians spend their days watching the courts and their nights watching the stars. By the former, he referred to the series of trials and hearings of figures from the regimes that have succeeded one another during the past three years (the Mubarak regime, SCAF rule, the Muslim Brotherhood regime and the current interim regime). By “the stars” he meant the train of luminaries that appear on satellite TV talks shows of both the serious and comic varieties. There is much truth in what he said. Perhaps never before in modern Egyptian history have the courts been so busy with so many diverse cases. But we cannot draw a line between daytime and night. Night is when TV news programmes and talk shows conduct their own trials, especially now that some of these stations have turned into political parties or ideological platforms, or even arbitrators — beneath a professional veneer — in the definition of such terms as “national interest” which, like beauty, often depends on the eye of the beholder. However, in spite of the jam-packed trial schedule that fills our days and nights, the essence and, indeed, the basic information are lacking. There are many reasons for this. Perhaps all the noise and commotion is one and the tendency to resort to various intensities of rhetoric is another. Or maybe it has to do with the discrepancy between documents and oral statements, or with the fact that checking of facts and figures is not the most widespread virtue. In all events, regardless of the reasons, the situation began with “the revolution” which led to the prosecution processes of the various regimes. The “revolutionaries” undertook the function of the prosecution and sometimes the defence, and other times that of the judges. The legitimacy of all these functions was derived, firstly, from the fact that they were exercised by youths whom we naturally associate with innocence, honesty, purity and romanticism, all untarnished by the corruption and deviousness of the old. As someone put it, the youth were the child who cried that the king had no clothes. Secondly, these functions came with “the revolution” or “the revolutions” or the “revolutionary waves” which are all characterised by high degrees of noble idealism. After all, revolution is the expression of an overwhelming desire for change — radical change — for the sake of God and the nation. Why would thousands of youths take to the streets, risking their lives, or imprisonment and torture, if not for the realisation of progressive aims? Thirdly, the revolutionaries and the revolution shined with a unique technological gleam. They were the children of globalisation, using its tools for social and political networking. They were a phenomenon that amazed the world — or so it was said. The courts of day and night performed their task of conducting cases. They did not distinguish between one era and the next. There was no difference between Mubarak and Morsi before the courts, in the courtroom or the studio. Even some revolutionary youth have entered the defendants' box in cases connected to the protest law. People have asked, how can a new order that came into power on the back of demonstrations prosecute anyone for demonstrating without obtaining prior permission? The question is a crucial one. It is crucial because it underscores the paradox of the revolution that legitimises all subsequent revolutions. As long as it was possible to remove a regime by demonstrations and extended sit-ins in the squares, why should this right not continue to apply at all times? That there are people who need to live is not the issue here. Nor the fact that there comes a time in the process of “change” when we have to take stock and ask tough questions, such as: Are we better off now? The problem is philosophical; especially once we consider that the revolution is not as pure and innocent as it claimed. Protesters may have chanted “Peaceful! Peaceful!” but the reality was otherwise. According to a report by Judge Adel Qoura on the casualties of the revolution, there were 847 dead. Only a minority of these was in Tahrir Square. The majority had fallen in attacks on police stations, prison breaks and fires set not just to the National Democratic Party building, which symbolised the old regime, but to some 30 courts and public prosecution buildings. After the first revolution, hundreds more died in subsequent waves. The cries of “peaceful” could not cover up the blood that was shed. The revolution was not as innocent as it was made out to be. In fact, innocence remained remote throughout the succession of revolutions. The difference between them was solely in the type of dead and the banner beneath which they fell. Blood flowed in many squares. No difference was made between a security agency building and a group of soldiers breaking their Ramadan fast. Nor was the revolution as progressive as its practitioners believed. It was handed over to the most reactionary and backward groups in the Egyptian political arena twice. The first time occurred when the revolutionaries gave greater importance to attacking the Ministry of Interior building than to general elections, as a result of which the Muslim Brothers and their allies won 74 per cent of the seats in parliament. The second time was when they elected Mohamed Morsi in order to exact revenge on the Mubarak regime after it had already fallen. Then, even after having taken part in bringing down Morsi, they departed from the roadmap. Mohamed Al-Baradei epitomised the revolutionaries in spite of his age. First he took part in applying the roadmap and became vice-president; then he resigned and left the country. The revolutionaries want to participate in government in order to build the Egypt they dream of. But the moment the responsibilities grow heavy they flee either to exile or to prison. The most important problem was not the intensive fragmentation that made it difficult to define the revolution and the revolutionaries. Rather, it was that the tools of knowledge they possessed were not instruments for networking but for division. The revolutionaries did not produce a single constructive idea for how to remedy the ills they spoke of, such as corruption, dependency, stagnation and even dictatorship. They did not use technology to familiarise themselves with the courses taken by other countries. They might have cited the Asian tigers, Brazil, South Africa and Eastern Europe, generally more for the purposes of spite, but the essence of their actions in dealing with the questions of bread, freedom, social justice and human dignity was little. The revolutionaries were cut off from the world in a concrete way. They fell variously into the categories of Islamist fundamentalists and Nasserist fundamentalists. But they all had a vision of a form of government based on the intervention of the state in all facets of society and life. The state takes from the rich and gives to the poor. It shapes and keeps in line all medical, educational and manufacturing cadres. It compensates factories for not working and not producing and then pays the “profits” to the workers and employees. In all events, to those people, the state is to be damned whether pays or not, responds to demands or not, whether it does or does not. As long as this is the case, there will be perpetual grievance against the tyranny of the state that refuses to listen to the streams of words being said day and night.
