Nehad Selaiha wonders when theatre will stop looking back in anger at Mubarak's reign and begin to heed present threats to the revolution With all that has been happening since 25 January -- the many disturbing shifts in the course of this youthful glorious uprising, the recent shocking revelations of the true intentions of its Islamic faction, the bloody attacks by members of its extremist, puritanical Salafi wing, self-appointed guardians of Islamic law, on peaceful citizens in the name of Iqamet Al-Hodood (the imposition of Islamic penalties according to the Islamic Shari'a ), and their violent, disorderly protests, just as many Egyptians, Christian and Muslim, are preparing to celebrate Easter, against the appointment of a Copt as governor of Qina in Upper Egypt -- you would expect theatre artists, particularly those who took an active part in the 25 January uprising, to shift their gaze from the past to the immediate present and display some degree of awareness of the very real danger of the revolution being hijacked by religious bigots and fanatics. Last month, following the announcement of the very disappointing result of the very controversial referendum on the constitutional amendments, held on 19 March, one leading Salafi preacher, by the name of Sheikh Mohamed Hussein Ya'qoub, openly called this referendum, in his Friday Sermon, Ghazwat Al-Sanadeeq (the Expedition, or Invasion of the Ballot Boxes), interpreting its result as a clear majority vote and popular mandate for the institution of an Islamic theocracy. To those who declare 'they cannot live in such a country and under such a rule,' he could only retort: 'As you like ... God speed ... What's that to us? You can seek visas to America and Canada... We (meaning the Islamists) have won the battle of the 'boxes' ... this country is ours and anyone who does not like it is most welcome to emigrate' ( as reported in Al-Badil, 21 March, 2011, and on the ). On Thursday, 14 April, the Muslim Brotherhood held a popular conference in the district of Imbaba, west of Cairo (notorious in the 1980s and '90s as a hotbed for militant, fundamentalist Islamists who called themselves Gama'aat Al-Jihad ). In this conference, Sa'd Al-Husseini -- a leading member of the Brotherhood's General Guidance Bureau -- plainly said that 'the Brotherhood presently aims to lead society towards achieving its Islamic identity in preparation for establishing Islamic rule'; and while he invited all Islamic factions -- 'the Salafis, Sunnis and Sufis' -- to put aside their differences and 'work together towards empowering religion', urging them to spread and become politically active everywhere, in mosques, factories and universities,' Mahmoud Izzat, the deputy of the Brotherhood's General Guide, stoutly announced that 'the Brotherhood will impose Islamic penalties when it has possessed the land.' These statements provoked angry and shocked reactions from many Tahrir Square revolutionaries but did not surprise those acquainted with the history of the Brotherhood. 'They are typical of the Movement's strategies and tactics as laid out by its founder, Hassan Al-Banna,' Salah 'Isa noted in Al-Ahram Arabic daily on 21 April (p. 11). The policy pursued by the Brotherhood since 25 January, he went on to explain, has been typically one of 'stooping to conquer', of seeming 'participation' ( musharakah ) to be followed by mughalabah (wrestling to gain mastery of the situation) -- in other words, of pretending to go along with the revolutionaries in calling for a civil, democratic state, then turning against them when the moment is ripe and pursuing their own ends. That, in the face of unquestionable evidence in the form of video recordings of the conference, these two leading Islamists have since shamelessly denied saying what they did is again a typical, familiar tactic intended to defuse the crisis their statements have whipped up and pacify their critics in order to go on duping them. Had the different political forces that staged the Tahrir square demonstrations heeded the fact that an Islamic state has always been the sole and ultimate goal of the Brotherhood since it was founded, Salah 'Isa ruefully concludes, they would not have fallen so easily into the trap it set for them and would not have felt so shocked by what was robustly declared in the Imbaba conference. Equally enlightening and disturbing as that conference was the Friday sermon delivered by the Salafi Imam of Dar Ibn Al-Arqam mosque in Madinat Nasr, a suburb north of Cairo, on 15 April; in it, according to Magdi Afeefi's report in Al-Akhbar Arabic daily on 22 April, p. 20, he divided Egyptians society into 'goodies' ( Al-Akhyar ) and 'others' ( Al-Aghyar ), meaning 'baddies', with the former category embracing only the Salafis and their followers and supporters. On the same Friday, Afeefi went on to say in the same report, a gang of Salafis grate-crashed into Al-Noor mosque in the Abassiya district of Cairo, pulled its mild Imam off the pulpit by his beard, kicked out the mosque's attendants and delegated one of them to deliver a fire-and-brimstone sermon in which he shouted at the congregation that hitherto their mosque had been no better than 'a dance floor', 'a nightclub', or 'a singers' hall'. Faced with such revelations, it is no longer only the Copts of Egypt that are worried, as has been 'seditiously' repeated in the press; indeed, all Egyptian Muslims who favour a secular form of government that draws a clear and sharp line between religion and politics are far more worried and feeling more dangerously threatened than their Christian compatriots. While an Islamic rule would ban Copts and Egyptian Christians of other orders and denominations from enlisting in the army, rob them of the honour of defending their country, subjecting them in return to the humiliation of paying a certain levied tax, infamously called Gizia, and would deny them leading public positions, in the same way as it would deny women of all religions, secular Muslims would be denied free thought and expression, could be forced to fight religious battles against their conscience and would very likely be coerced into a way of life and manner of dressing and social conduct profoundly alien to their inclinations and most cherished convictions and beliefs. If they dare object, they would be branded as religious renegades and probably stoned to death. Like their Christian compatriots, even more so, they would be forced into exile, and would find the way to such an unfortunate choice quite rugged and full of obstacles, as many expatriate Iranians would tell you. And, of course, it would be harder for women. If only the Salafis would leave us to pursue our own faiths, just as we are willing to let them pursue theirs, there would be no problem. It is their grim insistence on forcing their convictions upon us that bestirs one to active resistance. The revolutionaries of Tahrir Square would have been well advised to advocate, at the very start, a democracy conditional civil laws, protected by the constitution, under which all citizens are equal, regardless of faith, race or gender, and on universal respect for human rights, particularly the rights and freedoms of individuals and ethnic or religious minorities (such as the Baha'is -- the Christians of Egypt being in no way a minority). A democracy that does not insist on such rights, can be viciously manipulated, disfigured and transformed into a dictatorship of an ignorant, silent and passive 'majority', exploited and deluded by vociferous bands of well-organized, well-funded religious zealots. Last week, watching another fringe performance that celebrated the revolution and looked back in anger at all the vices and injustices that have led to it, I thought I detected a note of forced cheerfulness, so hungry and eager, so fierce in its determination to be hopeful, to turn a blind eye to the present and cling to the Utopian image of Tahrir Square in the early days of the revolution, and yet so painfully conscious of being unsustainable. How easy it is to look back in anger and theatrically rehash and trot out grievances on which all agree; how much more difficult to confront a painfully confused and confusing reality and peer into a future hitherto dim and foggy. Still, Hikayet Midan (Story of a Square), a self-funded production by the newly established Fannaneen Masriyeen (Egyptian Artists) independent theatre troupe, collaboratively written (text and lyrics) by Sayed El-Abaseeri, Amr Qabil, and Yasir Abul 'Einein, choreographed by Mustafa Huzzayin, set to music by Marawan Izz, conceived and directed by Amr Qabil, and presented for one night at the Hosapeer Theatre in March, then, by courtesy of the current minister of culture, at Beit Al-Umma Cultural Centre from 18 to 21 April, has proved the best I have seen of all the political cabaret shows the revolution has spawned so far. Though it rehearsed the same problems and grievances repeatedly aired in similar current and past performances, such as poverty, corruption, unemployment, bureaucracy, rampant favourtism, nepotism and cronyism in government circles, not to mention the shortage of and frustratingly interminable queues for subsidized bread, or natural gas cylinders, and eloquently expressed the feelings of despair that have frequently led to waves of illegal immigration, often ending in disaster, it had such sincerity and vigour, such an abundance of creative talent, powers of invention, technical expertise and artistic discipline in every aspect that made it more than just an occasion piece or a topical show. Whatever happens to the revolution, and whether decades from now it will be remembered as a glorious turning point in Egyptian history, as the framing device (through which the show is projected as the recollections of a grandfather communicated to his grand daughter in the year in 2050) hopes it will be, or will be seen as a lost cause and another tragically missed opportunity, I wager that Hikayet Midan, whenever and wherever performed, will prove stage-worthy and relevant on account of its delicious, genial and un-embittered humour, its rigorous artistic economy, its faultless tempo, its delicate, skilful orchestration of moods, its exquisite, colourful combination of acting, mime, puppetry, song and dance, its witty lyrics and catchy tunes, its profound gentleness, warmth and humanity and eloquent translation of topical issues into powerful theatrical images of abiding, universal relevance. lain The sequence that graphically and succinctly portrayed, with the help of masks, marionettes, circus acts and clowning routines, the hypocrisy and prevarications of members of parliament, ministers and politicians, and the ingenious mime sequence that satirized the clinging of dictators wherever to 'the seat of power' and the awesome mystique and impenetrable wall of lies they erect round this symbol, graphically rendering these ideas into vivid stage metaphors of great hilarity and power, were unforgettable highlights that amply proved the troupe's rich imagination, artistic prowess and powers of invention. In one corner of the garden of the historical Beit Al-Umma, the architecturally delightful residence of Sa'd Zaghloul, the hero of the 1919 Egyptian popular uprising, and his wife, Safiyya, popularly known as Umm Al-Masriyeen (the Mother of Egyptians), a plain, make- shift stage was erected, with a white screen at the back for a few, well- selected and dramatically timed video projections. Alive to the connotations of the place, Amr Qabil ingeniously deployed his 52 performers on and around this simple, bare stage, making use of the aisle between the audiences' rows of seats, as well as of the trees and shrubs on both sides. The performers, plainly dressed in black trousers and white T shirts, were contagiously zestful and executed their songs and dances, their satirical sketches, serious scenes, burlesque numbers, or mime sequences with admirable competence, great relish, evident pleasure, infectious enthusiasm and consummate skill. They looked like actors tirelessly, unsparingly and rigorously drilled in the different arts of theatre by an exacting, relentless master of the craft. Anxious as I felt about the future, I thought that if all else fails, of the wonderful young actors and artistic crew of Hikayet Midan and their generation could always seek refuge in their art and derive from it a sense of value, of purpose and of human worth. And in such hopeful determination and artistic talent as I hope they will passionately guard, we, too, could find solace and some compensation.
