Hannah Fleishman is a sophomore marketing communication major. Hannah wrote this article on Wednesday. As of today, she said, the Internet is back up, and the situation is less violent. However, she noted, that changes day by day.
Over the past week, Emerson students have come up to me on the street, written on my Facebook wall, and stopped me in the dining hall to ask if my family is safe. Some people I’ve known, others not so well, but they’ve all shared concern for my parents who currently live in Cairo. With hourly status updates and frequent links to New York Times articles, I’ve made it clear that I am emotionally invested in Egypt’s protests and the downfall of President Hosni Mubarak. After attending high school in Cairo and returning for winter and summer breaks during my time here at Emerson, I’ve grown to call Egypt my home. Like any other student from Los Angeles, Chicago, or Washington D.C., I know the tricks to my city that you can’t read about in guide books. I, too, get all soft inside when I hear the national anthem, but not the one about stars and stripes—the Egyptian national anthem. So, as you can imagine, when the Egyptian people began protesting in Cairo last Monday to overthrow Mubarak, it hit me hard. When things took a turn for the worst on Thursday and I was unable to contact my family, it hit me even harder.
My dad and I Skyped last Monday, and he lightly mentioned that he would be covering the protests in downtown Cairo later that day. Because my father is a foreign correspondent for The Los Angeles Times, we’ve moved from Italy to Germany to Egypt to follow the ever-changing breaking news. He sounded doubtful the protest would actually happen because, well, it’s Egypt. If you’re meeting someone at eight, you’d usually expect them at nine. If the water stops running mid-shower, which it often does, be prepared to wait at least an hour to rinse out your shampoo. If you call an electrician to fix your television, don’t be surprised if they show up unannounced at 11 p.m. two weeks later. To my dad’s surprise, the protest did take place and still is, 11 days later. Throughout these past 11 days, Emersonians have bluntly admitted to me they know nothing about Middle Eastern politics. I hear them say, “I’m completely ignorant. Explain to me what’s happening over there.” The truth is, it isn’t about ignorance. It’s about what you’ve been exposed to and how curious you are about the world. Emerson students have proven admirably curious this past week, and thanks to their questions about Egypt, I’ve been able to expose them to a new world. My world.
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The protests in Egypt were sparked by Tunisia’s success a few weeks ago when President Ben Ali fled the country under the pressure of riots and uproar. The Egyptian people, living under one of the most corrupt governments in the world, saw an opportunity in Tunisia’s victory. If Ben Ali resigned, maybe Mubarak would too. Egypt and its people have been victims of Mubarak’s ugly regime for more than 30 years. And forgive me if I sound like I’m taking sides, because I know a good journalist is supposed to be unbiased, but there is a side of the story that needs to be heard. A side that has been suppressed for decades. A side that knows democracy only as a concept, not a reality. A side that knocks on my door in Cairo every day and asks for money, food, clothes, or a mattress to sleep on. It’s the people’s side. Almost half of Egypt’s population is under the age of 20, not much younger than we are. What would you do if you were growing up in a world where you were lucky to make two dollars a day? How would you feel about starting a family in a place where eating dinner wasn’t a guarantee? In America, we expect to be educated, to eat three meals a day, to sleep in a bed at night, and to have the luxury of choosing a job. Mubarak never provided these things for his people, and so they are fighting for what they deserve, for what we take for granted.
The past 11 days have been scary for me. Each morning I’ve woken up and checked the news, only to find that the protests have gotten worse and increasingly violent. All cell phone services, along with the Internet, have been disconnected by the government in hopes of preventing protest planning via Facebook and Twitter, and the disconnect has made it nearly impossible for me to contact my parents. Often, I’ve only known they were alive and safe because The Los Angeles Times’ website has been publishing my father’s articles. I’ve never been so happy to read one of his stories. My mom called me over the weekend on a satellite phone to ask how my 20th birthday party went, but I quickly told her it was the last thing I wanted to talk about. She sensed the anxiety in my voice and told me not to worry—it wasn’t dangerous.
I believed her until I discovered the riots had spread like a disease from downtown Cairo into my own neighborhood. Cars have been set on fire, stores have been looted, inmates have escaped from prisons and gotten hold of firearms. My mom said they have a 4 p.m. curfew, and she can hear gunshots in our neighborhood after dark. Military tanks guard the streets, and civilians have formed neighborhood watch parties, armed with baseball bats and rocks. Most Americans have left Egypt, either having been evacuated by their employers or deciding to flee to England, Italy, or Dubai on their own for safety. People frequently ask me, “Why don’t your parents get out?” Simply put, my father is a journalist, this is his job, and this is what he gets paid to do. It is his duty to throw himself into the uproar and get tear gassed so that he can tell the world exactly what is happening. My mom has recently begun writing for The Los Angeles Times as well. Together, they are living one of the most monumental moments in contemporary history, and I’d give anything to join them.
Tuesday night, Mubarak addressed the people of Egypt, and I was afraid because his words had the power to break a nation on the very edge. He assured the people he would not run in the next presidential election in September, but would remain in office until then. This made my stomach churn. By the next morning, as I had feared, the protests had turned into full-on battles in the streets of Cairo. Some are satisfied with Mubarak’s response, but many are not. “Pro-Mubarak” protesters are now going head-to-head with the protesters who feel they’ve come too far for Mubarak to not resign immediately. The streets have turned into makeshift hospitals, several people have died, and over 1,500 are injured. Gunshots and homemade bombs are going off in the crowds. A friend from Cairo texted me this morning and said she was afraid because Molotov cocktails have begun to fly overhead.
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As I write this, I understand it all may be irrelevant by tomorrow. I feel anxious going to sleep at night because so much can happen in eight hours. News is constantly breaking. On Wednesday morning, major violence broke out, and none of us know what this weekend could bring.
I continue to fear for my parents, but I know they need to tell this story. The world needs to know about Egypt so they can stand behind its people. Though right now this seems like a nightmare, I believe that Egypt’s dream will soon come true. Because they are fearless, because they are devoted, the people will see democracy in their lifetime.
To anyone at Emerson who feels disconnected to what’s happening, keep asking questions. Keep with you that curiosity you’ve shown me. This may be Egypt’s uprising, but it needs you on its side. What I have been told many times this past week, I will now say to you: “Today, we are all Egyptians.”
You can read Hannah’s father’s most recent article from The Los Angeles Times here and her mother’s most recent blog from The Los Angeles Times here.
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