seeking office at any price, or stooges who receive their instructions from the regime and have to carry them out. Boycotting the coming elections is the correct position, which the Egyptian people will adopt, and so anyone who does take part will be acting in defiance of the will of the nation. When Egypt has real elections we will all take part, but for now, let’s leave them to act out their silly and boring drama alone, without extras.
Democracy is the solution.
September 9, 2010
THE PEOPLE AND SOCIAL JUSTICE
Our Advice to the Butcher
M y family used to have an empty apartment in Mawardi Street in Sayyida Zeinab and I used to stay there to be alone while studying for exams at university. In that apartment I saw extraordinary vignettes of working-class Egyptian life.
Opposite us, on the second floor of a dilapidated old building, lived a butcher by the name of Mr. Galal, a stocky man with a fierce temper. He was fond of alcohol and every night he would drink the cheapest and deadliest varieties available. When he was drunk, he turned into a raging bull and as soon as he arrived home toward dawn everyone in the street would wake up to the screams of his wife calling out for help as he beat her mercilessly. Some of the residents, including me, sympathized with the poor woman and we would stand on the pavement opposite where we could see Mr. Galal’s room, shouting out good advice: “Don’t let the devil tempt you, Mr. Galal!” “It’s best to make peace, folks.”
The leader in these mediation attempts was “Uncle” Awad, the grain merchant, a thin man of more than seventy who was also a man of considerable wisdom and courage. One night Galal the butcher was arguing as usual with his wife, but this time the argument escalated and suddenly we saw him bring out a large knife. The sight of it glinting alarmed us as we stood on the pavement opposite, watching and trying to calm the man down. His wife’s cries broke the silence of the night: “Save me, people. He’s going to kill me.” Mr. Galal growled back, “I’ll finish you off. Say your last prayers.”
At this point Awad the grain merchant, with us behind him, rushed upstairs to the butcher’s apartment and began to pound on the door with such violence and insistence that in the end Mr. Galal had to come and open the door for us. We rushed inside, pulled the woman away from him, formed a circle around him with our bodies, and grabbed the knife from him. We started to calm him down and did not leave until we had reconciled the couple.
The next day the butcher came to “Uncle” Awad to complain. “Do you think it’s right to come between a man and his wife?” he asked.
“Of course it is, if he’s going to kill her,” Awad replied at once.
“Even if I kill her, she’s my wife and I can do what I like with her.”
“Of course not. How can you kill her and say you can do what you like?”
“I don’t allow anyone to interfere in my household.”
At that point Awad looked at the butcher long and hard, then calmly said, “If you don’t want anyone interfering in your household then you should show some self-respect.”
I remembered this incident while I was following the case of Ayman Nour, the politician who challenged President Mubarak in the 2005 elections. I don’t know the man personally, and I disagree with him on many things, but I defend his rights as a citizen. The government allowed him to set up the Ghad Party, but as soon as the party began its political activity by calling for constitutional amendments and presidential elections with more than one candidate, the government turned on it. Ayman Nour’s parliamentary immunity was lifted in ten minutes, he was detained, beaten, and humiliated, his wife was threatened with prosecution on trumped-up immorality charges if she defended him, and the government newspapers suddenly discovered that Ayman Nour was the worst person in Egypt and in the Arab world, guilty of every
Democracy is the solution.
September 9, 2010
THE PEOPLE AND SOCIAL JUSTICE
Our Advice to the Butcher
M y family used to have an empty apartment in Mawardi Street in Sayyida Zeinab and I used to stay there to be alone while studying for exams at university. In that apartment I saw extraordinary vignettes of working-class Egyptian life.
Opposite us, on the second floor of a dilapidated old building, lived a butcher by the name of Mr. Galal, a stocky man with a fierce temper. He was fond of alcohol and every night he would drink the cheapest and deadliest varieties available. When he was drunk, he turned into a raging bull and as soon as he arrived home toward dawn everyone in the street would wake up to the screams of his wife calling out for help as he beat her mercilessly. Some of the residents, including me, sympathized with the poor woman and we would stand on the pavement opposite where we could see Mr. Galal’s room, shouting out good advice: “Don’t let the devil tempt you, Mr. Galal!” “It’s best to make peace, folks.”
The leader in these mediation attempts was “Uncle” Awad, the grain merchant, a thin man of more than seventy who was also a man of considerable wisdom and courage. One night Galal the butcher was arguing as usual with his wife, but this time the argument escalated and suddenly we saw him bring out a large knife. The sight of it glinting alarmed us as we stood on the pavement opposite, watching and trying to calm the man down. His wife’s cries broke the silence of the night: “Save me, people. He’s going to kill me.” Mr. Galal growled back, “I’ll finish you off. Say your last prayers.”
At this point Awad the grain merchant, with us behind him, rushed upstairs to the butcher’s apartment and began to pound on the door with such violence and insistence that in the end Mr. Galal had to come and open the door for us. We rushed inside, pulled the woman away from him, formed a circle around him with our bodies, and grabbed the knife from him. We started to calm him down and did not leave until we had reconciled the couple.
The next day the butcher came to “Uncle” Awad to complain. “Do you think it’s right to come between a man and his wife?” he asked.
“Of course it is, if he’s going to kill her,” Awad replied at once.
“Even if I kill her, she’s my wife and I can do what I like with her.”
“Of course not. How can you kill her and say you can do what you like?”
“I don’t allow anyone to interfere in my household.”
At that point Awad looked at the butcher long and hard, then calmly said, “If you don’t want anyone interfering in your household then you should show some self-respect.”
I remembered this incident while I was following the case of Ayman Nour, the politician who challenged President Mubarak in the 2005 elections. I don’t know the man personally, and I disagree with him on many things, but I defend his rights as a citizen. The government allowed him to set up the Ghad Party, but as soon as the party began its political activity by calling for constitutional amendments and presidential elections with more than one candidate, the government turned on it. Ayman Nour’s parliamentary immunity was lifted in ten minutes, he was detained, beaten, and humiliated, his wife was threatened with prosecution on trumped-up immorality charges if she defended him, and the government newspapers suddenly discovered that Ayman Nour was the worst person in Egypt and in the Arab world, guilty of every
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