With a run-off likely, the results of upcoming presidential elections look set to represent well the current condition of the Egyptian people, writes Abdel-Moneim Said This is a unique moment, not just because Egyptians will be choosing their next president from among many different candidates, but also because the Egyptian state will be taking another step towards regaining its vigour. Ultimately, the state is a collection of institutions that manage the affairs of a people within a specified geographical area. In Egypt, these institutions were seriously impaired following the outbreak of the revolution in January last year. The first institution to break down was the presidency. Regardless of the shortcomings of that institution in terms of democratic standards, it had legitimacy as the foremost post of leadership and responsibility, as had been the case since the inception of the Pharaonic state thousands of years ago. The second disruption occurred with the suspension of the constitution and its replacement by a package of constitutional amendments and the provisional Constitutional Declaration. However prudent these measures may have been -- and both have been the subjects of considerable controversy -- they could not take the place of a fully-fledged constitution. The third institution to go was the legislative authority when the People's Assembly and the Shura Council were dissolved, and the fourth breakdown occurred with the collapse of the security apparatus, leaving authorities unable to secure law and order and rendering the sovereign institutions of the state vulnerable to periodic attacks. The past months of the transitional period were about making repairs and replacing the things that were broken. Without a doubt, the legislative elections were a great step forward, and the restoration of a large degree of confidence in the police and security apparatus was no less an important step. Also, while Egyptians have so far failed to form a Constituent Assembly for the writing of a new constitution, they have managed to move forward on presidential elections in spite of the many obstacles in the way. Prime among the hurdles were the opposition on the part of some parties to elections being held while the "generals" were still in power, the objection on the part of others to electing a president before his powers had been delineated under a new and permanent constitution, and litigation in the courts against certain aspects of the electoral process or against the eligibility of some of the candidates. It was a bumpy road, but it ultimately led to 13 presidential candidates running, two of who withdrew from the race after the deadline for doing so. Out of these many candidates, only half stand a fighting chance, judging by opinion polls, and popular and media interest in their conferences, rallies and daily contacts with the public. The rest confirmed that everyone has a right to 15 minutes of fame. That half a dozen destined for more than this share fall into opposing camps facing one another across the divides of "the state versus the revolution" and "secularist versus Islamist". Because these divides intersect, there is an interesting spread of personalities both in terms of what they stand for and who they are. If there are two poles in this configuration, then Ahmed Shafik is one and Mohamed Mursi is the other. The former represents the Egyptian state, par excellence. A career military man of the first order, who reached the rank of lieutenant general and commander of the Egyptian Air Force, Shafiq hails not only from the heart of the Egyptian state, but from the heart of this heart -- namely the military establishment that was the prime common denominator of rule in Egypt from 1952 to the January 2011 revolution. He went on to serve as minister of aviation and then prime minister -- twice, once in the pre-revolutionary era and once after the 25 January Revolution. The second time, he became head of the executive authority after that authority had not only lost its president but was also being buffeted by debilitating blows. Mohamed Mursi, one of the key leaders of the formerly banned Muslim Brotherhood and now the head of its Freedom and Justice Party, made his way from prison to the revolution and from there he set his sights on the presidency, sometimes championing an "Islamic frame of reference" at other times the "application of Islamic Sharia law". Although both men are multifaceted and unique in their own way, the first stands accused of being part of the regime that the revolution was waged to bring down, while the second is charged with being part of an organisation that opposed the legitimacy of the Egyptian civil state throughout its contemporary eras, from the constitutional monarchy to the republic. Regardless of such accusations, the two, together, epitomise the current antithesis in the Egyptian electoral arena. Curiously, the campaign messages of both seem determined to prove the charges levelled against them. Shafiq makes no bones about professing his allegiance to the republic that fell, although he has simultaneously declared his determination to change it. Mursi is trying to tantalise the public by projecting himself as the perpetual defender of the application of Sharia law in a civil state. Between these two poles lies an entire spectrum. Amr Moussa, who is leading in public opinion polls, combines two virtues. He is the consummate statesman, but his angry criticisms against the state propelled him to the side of the revolutionaries. Abul-Fotouh hails from the Muslim Brotherhood fold, but following an act of defiance he found himself expelled. This he projects as proof of his independence, which he blends with his support for the revolution and his personal record of struggle, and to which he adds an ideological mixture that fuses liberalism and Islam. Both Moussa and Abul-Fotouh form an Egyptian political centre, although if Moussa's outlook is clearer, more down to earth and more detailed, Abul-Fotouh's is more idealistic. The next two cases are less easy to categorise. While Hamdeen Sabahi, tends towards the statist and civilian sides of the abovementioned divides, Selim El-Awwa tends towards the statist and religious sides. The former has always been an exponent of the Nasserist state, for better or for worse. It is his calling card, albeit tempered by the revolution in the direct of democracy. The second has been a staunch supporter of the post-revolutionary state. The relative stability that the Supreme Council of the Armed Forces achieved guaranteed his permanent support for it. However, his membership in the Islamist camp did not keep him from mixing this with the call for justice, which was one of the major demands of the revolution. The rest of the candidates list is detail. They caused some commotion as they pushed for equal attention with the others, but ultimately Khaled Ali, ��Hishem El-Bastawisi and Abdallah El-Ashaal could not get past the first thresholds of public support, with some showing less than a one per cent popularity rating. Even so, their presence was needed. No picture is complete without the peripheries and you cannot see the lights of the city until you discern the outskirts. These candidates furnished those parts of the landscape that made the presidential campaigns complete and fully three-dimensional. Today, Egyptians are heading to the polls to choose. Since it is unlikely that any of the candidates will attain 50 per cent of the votes plus one, Egypt will probably emerge from this day to find the contest narrowed to a run-off between two. Those two candidates, together, will probably embody the current condition of the Egyptian people, and perhaps the rest of the region, where confusion prevails and the search for certainty presses on.
