Still Fighting in Cairo

CAIRO — While the world turns its attention to the riveting drama in Libya, where revolutionaries are seeking to oust the dictator Muammar al-Qaddafi, the revolution next door in Egypt is entering a new phase — one that is just as exhilarating and consequential as the protests that drove President Hosni Mubarak from power in just 18 incredible days.

In fact, the revolution may be gaining momentum. The Egyptian people endured Mubarak’s reign for 30 years, but 33 days of Prime Minister Ahmed Shafiq was all it took for them to threaten to take to the streets en masse to demand his ouster. Shafiq, who was appointed by Mubarak during the early days of the revolution in a blatant bid to seem reasonable without conceding much power, was widely seen, along with much of his cabinet, as a relic of the pre-revolutionary era and the man who had overseen — or at least failed to stop — some of the most violent attacks against peaceful demonstrators in Tahrir Square.

Shafiq has been replaced by Essam Sharaf, a former minister of transportation and member of the National Democratic Party’s Policies Committee — Mubarak’s Politburo, if you will. Sharaf has nevertheless acquired the reputation of being an honest civil servant, having resigned from his ministerial post in 2005 to protest the government’s handling of a major train crash. He also earned points with the revolutionaries, having himself led a small protest at Cairo University a few days before Mubarak stepped down.

Shafiq’s sacking came just hours after a historic TV interview that saw the prime minister sourly criticized and altogether humiliated by the other panelists, and not long before a massive protest had been scheduled to call for his removal along with several members of his cabinet, as well as the dissolution of the state security apparatus — known for spying on, detaining, and torturing Egyptian citizens at will — and the release of political prisoners.

With Shafiq’s metaphorical scalp still fresh, the protest went ahead as planned, and Prime Minister Sharaf himself took the podium immediately after the Friday midday prayer. Flanked, surprisingly, by Muslim Brotherhood leader Mohamed El-Beltagy (who occasionally grabbed the mic to shout a slogan or two), Sharaf was deferential. He saluted the revolution’s "martyrs" and pledged allegiance to the crowds: "I get my legitimacy from you," he said. "I will do my best to meet the revolutionary demands and the day I fail I won’t be here."

Standing below hastily printed banners showing his smiling face, Sharaf was met with a roar of approval. It was, effectively, the first time the Egyptian street celebrated a political appointment rather than an ousting.

The events that followed took both the state and the revolution’s loose leadership by storm. On Friday, the evening of the protest, protesters raided the Alexandria headquarters of the state security apparatus. The next day, as the Army looked on helplessly, a crowd of about 2,000 people barged its way into the state security headquarters in Nasr City, an eastern neighborhood in Cairo, while another group of demonstrators demanded to enter the enormous state security building in 6th of October city, a western suburb of the capital — a sight that was repeated countrywide, from Marsa Matrouh in the northwest to Qena in the south.

The Nasr City takeover, which I witnessed firsthand, was astonishing. Protesters, joined by masses of people who had personally endured or who had friends or loved ones endure interrogations and detention, raided the huge complex after hearing reports of documents being burned and shredded by state security officers. Some gathered damning documents that had been left behind; others desperately searched for hidden cells containing prisoners who had seemingly been transferred beforehand.

People were walking around, snapping pictures, peeking into offices, opening drawers, sifting through the documents. Weeks ago, people walking through the same corridors would have done so only because they had been brought there against their will and were looking forward to getting out.

Oceans of shredded documents filled huge garbage bags and were being guarded by military police, along with reams of documents that were spared the shredder — perhaps for lack of time or importance. Files detailing the lives and communications of politicians, bloggers, human rights activists, and media personalities — along with secretly filmed videotapes — were piled to the ceiling. State security had it all: minutes of private meetings and phone calls. Internet browsing histories. Email passwords. Many of the documents we found were internal correspondence, detailing suggested "courses of actions" to deal with various supposed "threats" posed by ordinary Egyptians.

Amid the chaos, some offices were ransacked by the revolutionaries. People entered the interior minister’s office and his private quarters — containing a king-size bed and, to the laughter of protesters, a man’s and a woman’s bathrobes hanging in a closet. They sat on the bed or at his desk, posing for photos. Some pilfered souvenirs — a paperweight, a pen; some went all the way to unhook the "State Security Investigations" metallic signs and carry them out, though most were stopped and searched by Army soldiers as well as other demonstrators who had vowed to protect all documents until they were handed to the state prosecutor’s office. After the initial storming in, the Army had guarded the main door, blocking passage to new incoming protesters — while leaving a side door open. Only after several hours did they start shooing people out of the complex.

The next day was rather different. A small group of protesters surrounded the state security offices by Lazoghly Square, next door to the Interior Ministry. From the onset, the Army was less friendly and reacted unexpectedly violently as the crowd grew to a few hundred, beating them up with batons and electrified sticks. Later, hosts of thugs armed with batons, machetes, and swords joined from the opposite side of the square, pushing them back toward the soldiers. Eventually, as the Army fired in the air, protesters managed to run out of the square under the thundering sound of machine guns. Twenty-seven protesters were arrested.

The renewed demonstrations have provoked a fiery debate in Egypt. Some demand that protests be halted, as the Army has proved to have a keen ear for popular demands and was, albeit slowly, responding to the revolutionaries’ requests. Others maintain that the demands go deeper than Shafiq’s head; the cleanup of the Mubarak gang is far from complete, and many pre-revolution grievances endure and need to be addressed. The Lazoghly debacle has only reinforced these concerns.

It was not the first time such a discussion has taken place — after every Mubarak speech since the beginning of the revolution, a number of voices suggested that this was "good enough" and that "we wouldn’t dare wish for that much three weeks ago." But it was the first time this discussion has arisen since Mubarak’s abdication and the ensuing collective euphoria, which may be less unanimous than the past days have made it seem.

In the activist community, the debate has taken a different tone. With one of many demands answered, should demonstrations go ahead as planned to maintain the pressure on the state (and the Army’s supreme council at its helm), or should the movement harbor its strength for when it might be truly needed?

All this debate may not ultimately matter much. As it stands today, Egypt is heading toward sharp bends and, save popular concerted action, there will be no one to pull the brakes. The revolution had no organized leadership, no public face — only occasional guidance. It now seems to have outgrown this phase and, whether it’s a peaceful demonstration on a Friday afternoon or the vengeful storming of a police dungeon, it will be difficult to get the street to listen to anyone.