The giraffe went up to them and said, “Old elephant, your reign has come to an end today. I still remember how the animals had high hopes at the beginning of your reign, but you surrounded yourself with the worst and dirtiest animals and now you can see the result for yourself.”
In a tired voice, the old elephant replied, “I’ve always done what I thought was right. If I made any mistakes then forgive me.”
“We’ll treat you with respect,” the giraffe said, “because you were once a good elephant. We’ll let you leave peacefully with your son, the young elephant, Daghfal. Go now and never come back to this forest. We’ve suffered enough from your corrupt and oppressive governance.”
The old elephant nodded his head, lifted his trunk slowly and with difficulty, and looked almost grateful.
The giraffe turned to the animals and cried, “The reign of tyranny is over, never to return!”
The animals all cheered, declaring with enthusiasm their joy at freedom.
Democracy is the solution.
May 25, 2010
A Surprise Dinner with an Important Person
One of my friends invited me to dinner at a well-known restaurant on a boat on the Nile. My friend and I sat down at the table reserved for us and the waiter rushed up to greet us and ask us if we wanted a drink before eating. My friend ordered a lemon juice, while I asked for a cold bottle of nonalcoholic beer. We chatted a while, then my friend looked surprised. He leaned over to me and whispered, “Well, I never! Do you know who that is?”
“Who?”
“It’s Gamal Mubarak.”
I looked around slowly to see him. My friend noticed how excited I was at this coincidence and said, “Would you like to sit where I am so you can see better?”
The offer was tempting. I sat in his place and saw Gamal Mubarak, the president’s son, sitting with his wife, Khadiga. He was wearing a dark-blue blazer and a white shirt without a tie while his wife was wearing an elegant blue dress. I was surprised not to see any bodyguards around them. I couldn’t see what Khadiga was eating but Gamal Mubarak was eating with relish a pizza napoletana. I watched them for several minutes and then something unexpected happened. Gamal Mubarak looked at me and smiled, greeted me with a nod, and then beckoned me to approach. I took leave of my friend and was heading toward his table when a burly, fierce-looking man suddenly blocked my way with his body. I caught a glimpse of a large pistol in a holster under his jacket. Gamal Mubarak said something to him I didn’t catch and the man backed off to let me pass.
Gamal Mubarak smiled and said, “Good to meet you.”
“Good to meet you, too.”
“By the way, Khadiga and I are among your readers.”
“It’s an honor.”
The waiter came and I ordered half a grilled chicken, fries, and another cold bottle of nonalcoholic beer. I asked Gamal Mubarak after his father’s health and he answered quietly, “Well enough.”
After that we spoke about the food and all three of us said how much we admired the proficiency of the Lebanese restaurant owner. I was fighting an urge to speak out and in the end I could not resist. “Mr. Mubarak,” I said, “I thank you for your hospitality and your generosity, but there’s something I have to say and I fear it might spoil the pleasure of the occasion.”
“Feel free to speak your mind,” he said.
“Things in Egypt are very bad. We’ve hit rock bottom,” I said. He looked at me with interest and said, “It’s true we have big problems, but this is the price we have to pay for development.”
“Where’s this development?”
“In the last few years the government has achieved unprecedented rates of growth.”
“With all due respect, where’s the development you talk about when half of all Egyptians live below the poverty line? Haven’t you heard about the young men who kill themselves because of poverty and unemployment?” I asked.
“We in the policies committee of the National Democratic Party have detailed studies on all these problems,” he said.
“Mr. Mubarak, most of what the people close to you in the policies committee keep telling you isn’t true. They’re opportunists and they’re pushing you as successor to your father for the sake of their personal interests,” I said.
“What do you mean by ‘successor’?”
“I mean you inheriting the presidency from President Mubarak,” I said.
“Don’t I have the right to take part in politics, like any citizen? If I ran for the presidency and won the elections, would that be ‘inheritance’?” he asked.
“You well know that elections in Egypt are a formality and are rigged. Would you be proud if you won the presidency by repression and fraud?”
“No elections anywhere in the world are without irregularities, and I think you’re exaggerating on this question of repression,” said Mr. Mubarak.
“Mr. Mubarak, are you living in the same country as us? There’s a difference between irregularities and the organized vote rigging that takes place in Egypt. As for repression, you only have to go on the Internet to see sad stories about the detentions, torture, and repression Egyptians are subjected to. Have you heard about Khaled Said, who was killed by the police in Alexandria?” I asked.
Khadiga spoke up, saying, “I felt very sorry for that young man.”
“I made a statement demanding that justice take its course,” said Mr. Mubarak.
“What use is that? What’s needed is a repeal of the emergency law under which thousands of Egyptians are tortured,” I said.
Gamal Mubarak put his knife and fork down next to his plate and took a gulp of the orange juice in front of him. Then suddenly, in a loud voice, he said, “It’s easy to talk but it’s hard to act. Your job is writing stories and articles, whereas I’ve been working twelve hours a day for years to reform the country.”
I was annoyed at the change in his tone but decided to go on to the end. “First, writing is a very hard job,” I said. “Second, even if you’ve worked hard, what matters is the results of your efforts. Listen, Mr. Mubarak, in what capacity do you work?”
“I’m the chairman of the policies committee in the National Democratic Party,” he replied.
“Would you have obtained that position if you weren’t the president’s son?”
He looked at me with obvious anger and for the first time I felt he regretted inviting me to his table. Khadiga smiled and looked at her husband to try to calm him down, but in a loud voice he said, “Of course you have the right to think we haven’t achieved anything in the policies committee, but many people appreciate what we’ve done, thank God, in Egypt and abroad.”
“Where’s this appreciation you’re talking about? The editors of the government newspapers praise you because they depend on you for favors. The poor people who come out to greet you on your tours are recruited by the party and the security agencies. But in the international press there are serious criticisms of the idea of hereditary succession. Did you read what Joseph Mayton wrote in The Guardian last year?”
“Yes, I did.”
“What did he write?” asked Khadiga.
Gamal Mubarak turned to her and said, “Joseph Mayton wrote that I represent everything that’s wrong with Egypt. Okay, that’s his opinion, but there are many different opinions. Many international newspapers write fair things about me.”
“I’m sorry to say it but the papers that are most friendly toward you are the Israeli papers. Haven’t you thought about the reason for that? The lengthy tribute which Maariv wrote this week is worth thinking about,” I said.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“Do you think Israel wishes Egypt well?”
“Of course not,” Khadiga chipped in.
Gamal Mubarak thought a little, then said, “And if we suppose that Israel’s intentions are always bad, what do you mean to say?”
“This Israeli insistence on seeing you succeed to the presidency reflects the Israelis’ alarm at the idea of Egyp
t turning democratic. They well understand that Egypt has the potential to be a great nation and that if it became democratic it would rise in the world and take the Arab world up with it. So they defend the idea of succession so that Egypt remains as wretched as possible.”
Gamal Mubarak sighed and was about to stand up. “Anyway, it was good to meet you,” he said.
“Before you go, I have another question,” I said.
“Please make it quick.”
“Do you love Egypt, Mr. Mubarak?”
“Of course.”
“Loving Egypt means its interests must take precedence over your own. I want you to promise me now that you’ll finally abandon the idea of hereditary succession and work with Egyptians for democratic reform,” I said.
Gamal Mubarak looked at me and his lips began to move but his voice was suddenly interrupted. I heard a persistent ringing noise and a dazzling light filled the room. I opened my eyes with difficulty and found my wife in front of me holding a jar of honey, as usual when she wakes me in the morning. She smiled and said, “Good morning.”
“Good morning.”
“Who’s this Gamal you were talking about in your sleep?” she asked.
“Gamal Mubarak. You see, we made an agreement to support democracy.”
“Gamal Mubarak support democracy just like that?” she said. “Okay, open your mouth.”
I opened my mouth and took a large spoonful of honey.
Democracy is the solution.
July 20, 2010
Thoughts on the President’s Health
In the 1980s I was studying in the United States for a master’s degree in dentistry and at the same time interning as a doctor in the University of Illinois hospital in Chicago. The patients who came to the hospital were poor Americans, most of them black. Every patient had an accurate medical file that contained his or her medical history, the details of his or her health, and test results. The first thing we learned as doctors was that the medical file was confidential and no one could look at it without the permission of the patient. In other words, people’s medical details were treated as personal secrets protected by law in the United States. During that period it happened that Ronald Reagan, who was president at the time, had an unexpected health crisis, was taken to hospital, and had surgery to remove a polyp from his intestines. From the first day there were official statements on all the details of his ailment, the type of surgery he had, and its possible side effects. In fact U.S. television networks invited a group of doctors and asked them all about the effects that the medicines Reagan was taking would have on his powers of concentration and his psychological condition. I was amazed when the doctors asserted that these medicines would make him unfit to take decisions for three weeks, after which he would return to normal.
The truth is, I saw quite a contrast there. Poor and simple U.S. citizens who came to the university hospital had medical files no one could look at without their permission, but when the president fell ill the American people had a right to know everything about his ailment and the drugs he was taking. The idea here is one of the basic principles of a democratic system. An ordinary citizen does not have a public position so his health is something that concerns him alone and his private life is protected by law, whereas the president is a public servant elected by citizens to perform a certain role for a fixed term, and in some cases he loses his job immediately if they withdraw their confidence. In a democratic system the president is the servant of the people in the full sense of the word and as soon as he takes office he loses his privacy and his whole life is exposed to the world. The public has the right to know the most intricate details of his life, from the source and size of his wealth, to his romantic ties, to even his health and the diseases he has, because the decisions the president takes affect the lives of millions of people and if he makes a bad judgment or is psychologically disturbed, it could lead to a disaster for which the country and citizens would all pay the price.
I remembered all this when I was following the current furor in Egypt over the health of President Mubarak. Several international newspapers have published reports claiming that President Mubarak’s health is deteriorating. In response to these reports President Mubarak has made several public appearances and the government has launched a countercampaign in which officials have denied that the president is ill and have said that he is in the best of health. They have even said that the civil servants who work with President Mubarak, who is eighty-two, run after him panting and have trouble keeping up with him because of his extraordinary dynamism and vigor. But western newspaper reports on President Mubarak’s illness did not stop, but rather increased. At that point orders went out to the chief editors of government newspapers, who then started a full-scale press campaign asserting that the president is in excellent health and strongly condemning the western press reports, which they saw as decisive proof of a major Zionist-imperialist conspiracy designed to undermine Egyptians’ confidence in their president’s health. Of course, we wish the president good health and a long life (as we do for everyone), but this does raise a question: Instead of these press campaigns and accusations of a conspiracy by international newspapers, why doesn’t the government resort to objective methods to make statements about President Mubarak’s health in a convincing manner?
The difference between what happened when the U.S. president was ill and what happened with the Egyptian president’s illness is exactly the difference between a democratic system and despotic rule. In a democratic system the president is seen as an ordinary person who can fall ill like the rest of humanity without appearing weak or losing prestige. But in despotic regimes the head of state is not portrayed as an ordinary human but as an inspired and unique leader of unequalled wisdom and courage, in fact as a legend rarely matched in the history of the nation. So disease, with all the pain, suffering, and human weakness it evokes, is incompatible with the image of the legendary president as someone above ordinary humans. In a democratic system a presidential illness might cause concern for the future of the president but not for the future of the country. If the president in a democratic system retires, the system allows citizens to choose his successor easily and simply. But in a despotic regime the future of the country and its citizens is in the hands of the president alone, so his illness poses a real danger to the coherence and well-being of the country. If an autocratic president is driven out of power by disease, the whole country starts on a voyage into the unknown and no one knows how long it will last or how it will end.
Another important difference is that a democratic president always feels that he owes his position to the people who chose him in free elections and that those who brought him to office have a right to know about his health, in order to be sure that he can perform his duties properly. But in Egypt the president comes to power through referendums and elections that are a mere formality, and holds on to power by force, so he does not feel that he owes his position to the people. On the contrary, sycophantic writers and officials often say that the president has done Egyptians a great favor by sacrificing his comfort for their sake and so Egyptians should do their best to prove they are worthy of their great president.
In this topsy-turvy state of affairs Egyptians do not have the right to know more about the president than he wants to disclose, in whatever way His Excellency sees fit for the people. The president only has to say he is well and we should thank God and shut up, not a single word after that. Officials see asking persistent questions about the president’s health as licentious conduct indicative of impertinence and bad breeding, and possibly a sign of treason and of ties to some foreign and hostile sponsor. Under similar circumstances two years ago, journalist Ibrahim Eissa wrote several articles asking questions about rumors that the president was ill. These articles were seen as a crime against the country, and Ibrahim Eissa stood trial and was sentenced to prison, only to be saved from that fate by a presidential pardon. The message was clear: beware of saying more than you sh
ould about the president’s illness because the president might get angry, and if the president gets angry with you then a black fate awaits you. Only a presidential pardon can save you from the president’s wrath, because in Egypt the president’s will is above the law, or rather it is in fact the law.
The way the regime handled the international press reports on the health of President Mubarak reveals the real crisis in the concept of government in Egypt, because yet again the regime has proved that it does not see Egyptians as citizens but as subjects who have never had the right to choose their rulers freely and so do not have the right to know whether President Mubarak is ill or if he intends to stay in office or retire or even what will happen if the president leaves office for any reason. In the eyes of the despotic regime, the Egyptian people do not deserve to choose, to ask, or to know. This distorted concept of government does not stem from the nature of the ruler as much as from the nature of the system. The way he came to office imposes on the ruler a certain vision and behavior while he is in office. When and only when Egyptians win back their natural right to choose their rulers, the ruler will change from being a unique legend into being merely a public servant to the people, and Egyptians will have the right to precise and lucid information about his health. That’s when Egypt will rise and start its future.
Democracy is the solution.
August 3, 2010
Why Don’t Egyptians Take Part in Elections?
When Egyptians rose up in 1919 against the British occupation, and nationalist leader Saad Zaghloul went to Paris to submit the demands of the Egyptian nation to the peace conference that followed the First World War, the British government reacted with a skillful maneuver: sending a fact-finding committee to Egypt under Colonial Secretary Lord Milner. But Egyptians quickly saw through the trick and realized that to have any dealings with the Milner Commission would undermine the credibility of Saad Zaghloul as a leader with a mandate from the Egyptian people. When the commission arrived in Cairo, it found a complete boycott awaiting it. Not a single Egyptian politician agreed to cooperate with the commission and the prime minister of the time, Mohamed Said Pasha, had to resign to avoid having to deal with Lord Milner. The lord is said to have lost his way in the streets of Cairo one day and when his driver asked a passerby for directions, the man replied, “Tell your Englishman to ask Saad Zaghloul Pasha in Paris.” As a result of this national consensus, the Milner Commission failed in its task and the British government had to bow to the will of Egyptians and negotiate directly with Saad Zaghloul.