I had been in Paris for five days when Mubarak finally stepped down.  We screamed and cried and went out to find the other Egyptians in France, to celebrate.  We found only police in front of the Egyptian Embassy, only tourists at the Eiffel tower, only shoppers and commuters at the Place de la Republique on Friday night.  We finally found our crowd on the Champs Élysées - not just Egyptians, but Tunisians, Algerians, Palestinians - people from all over the Arab world.  The next day we marched with them again, from the Place de la Republique to Chatelet - chanting, singing, dancing in the rain.  

We called everyone we could in Egypt, everyone exuberant, unbelieving, and at the same time knowing that finally, at last, what everyone thought could never happen, in fact, had to happen.  A friend sent me a video of a scene that took place in Taharir Square the moment Mubarak resigned.  A large group of people were praying Isha, the evening prayer.  Halfway through the prayer the announcement was made and those not praying in the square began to shout and cheer.  The worshippers, however, continued their prayer unbroken until they had finished.  Then they broke into shouts of joy.  Not even the final collapse of a 30 year dictatorship after 18 days risking their lives in the streets could make them interrupt their communion with God.  The uninformed might take this as a sign of blind fanaticism.  It is not.  It simply reflects their understanding that, however important a particular event, the temporal world is not the ultimate reality.  This recognition, this humility, is one of the reasons I believe the Egyptian revolution will 
ultimately succeed.

The next reason I believe it will succeed is what has happened to the streets of Egypt in the days since last Friday, February 11th, 2011, Egyptian Independence Day.  The streets are being 
cleaned by voluntary, self-organized crews of people.  I have been visiting my family in Egypt for 
26 years, and for 26 years my sisters-in-law have been complaining about the trash In the streets 
and buildings - how no one ever cared about anything outside their own apartment - how 
apathetic Egyptians were.  Now we see the truth.  It was never apathy that kept Egyptians from 
caring for their public spaces.  It was oppression.  It was that empowering oneself to do 
ANYTHING could be seen as an act of rebellion - a threat to the authority of the government.  
The only safe response was to do nothing, to live within one's private space, to repress all forms 
of public responsibility.  Now the Egyptians are EMPOWERED, and what is the first thing they do 
together?  They organize themselves to clean their streets.  They have won their Egypt back.  
They will never allow another dictatorship - of any kind - to strangle their spirits again.

But there is a final reason I believe this revolution will succeed, perhaps the most important one.  It was diverse, it was inclusive, and it was democratic.  This was reflected in the way that Coptic Christians protected Muslims from the pro-Mubarak thugs while they were praying in the square, and Muslims protected the Copts, in turn, while they were praying.  It was reflected in the variety of the ages, economic levels, and social groups of the demonstrators.  It was reflected in the fact that members of the Muslim Brotherhood participated in the demonstrations, but they did not predominate.  This was a revolution that empowered everyone, not just one group or another.  Of course the creation of a new democratic government will be messy and long and difficult.  People are already arguing about the best way forward.  But Egypt will never go back to dictatorship.
Never again.   

Feb. 7, 2011
Finally Back to My Blog
I'm finally back on my blog, having arrived in Paris to be with Sara, who was having a meltdown after being evacuated from Cairo and having to leave our family there behind.  Thirteen days ago I would have thought the prospect of spending a month with my daughter in Paris would be, not just wildly improbable, but just about the most exciting thing that could be.  Now, here we are, and all I want to do is cry.  The only place I want to be right now is with my husband and our family - in Taharir Square.  But he is now alone in the States, and Sara and I are in what feels like exile in Paris.  Irony upon irony.  I lived here before, years ago, with my dear friend Jennifer and her daughter.  I spoke with her before I left yesterday - how ironic that I am here now with my own daughter, thirty years later, at another pivotal time in our lives.  

I woke yesterday morning at 4:00 am, unable to sleep, even knowing I had a tiring trip ahead.  I was being called again by the spirit of Thomas Jefferson.  I got up and went to David McCullogh's biography of John Adams, with it's account of the last days of Jefferson's and Adam's lives.  It was July 4th, 1826 - fifty years to the day after the signing of the Declaration of Independence.  They had become close correspondants in their old age, despite having been bitter political rivals in the years after the revolution.  They had both been gravely ill for months, but both had clung to life... to make it to that day.  Jefferson died at Monticello in Virginia at 1:00 pm.  Later in the afternoon, John Adams, miles away in Quincy, Massachusetts, stirred and whispered "Thomas Jefferson survives."  He passed from this world around 6:20.

Jefferson survives indeed, and the legacy of he and Adams and the rest of our founding fathers plays out at this moment in Taharir Square.  

Osama's brother - the one who also lives in the States - called us on Thursday night, crying.  He had, like us, seen the CNN journalists reporting that they had been beaten, cameras smashed, prevented from going into Taharir Square.  He, like us, feared a massacre was coming.  "Osama you HAVE to call Nagwa and tell her NOT to go to Taharir Square tomorrow, and NOT to let Amru and Osama [nephew Osama] go.  By God Osama, she won't listen to me - you HAVE to tell her."

My husband's face changed to one I have only rarely seen - the one he gets when he feels his family is threatened.  He called Nagwa - cell phones were working again by then.  She insisted that they had to go.  "LA! Ya habibti!". NO my love!  And he explained what we were hearing, and what we believed would happen - over and over.  And he made her swear they wouldn't go.  finally, she did.  She swore they would not go.  And we were able to sleep for a few hours.  And when we woke Friday morning, we learned that the army had started to protect the demonstrators.  Ther had been no massacre on the "Day of Departure." And Osama was wracked by guilt, crying.  "I shouldn't have told them not to go!  They should have been there!  I want them to be there!  I was weak - I was too scared!" He sobbed.  We called Nagwa again.  They were inTaharir Square.  And we cried again - so relieved - they hadn't succumbed to our fear.  It's a terrible thing, to be living through a revolution from a distance.

Tuesday, February 1, 2011
As I've watched the images from Taharir Square on CNN this week, I am struck by irony.  This is the same square I walked across 26 years ago with my soon-to-be husband, his brother, and a friend of his brother's, who would be the second witness at my marriage (I don't even know his name).  A huge, institutional looking government building housed the room where Egyptians who wanted to marry foreigners had to go to get registered - i.e., legally married.  My husband had to fill out five identical copies of a three-page form by hand, in Arabic.  I said the Shehada - the Muslim commitment of faith.  My husband's brother and his friend signed the all papers as witnesses, and we were married.  Osama had to pay me a marriage "gift," according to Islamic law.  The minimum amount was equivalent to about a quarter of a U.S. dollar.  Osama convinced me that it was better to write down the minimum amount, because we would have to pay a tax on it.  The next day we went to the post office so Osama could call my father in the United States (the only place you could make international calls in those days), to ask for my hand in marriage. 

Last Monday that same brother's daughter, now an archeology student in university in Cairo, and our daughter, who was in Cairo on a foreign exchange program from the U.S., went through the National Egyptian Museum together - the museum in that same Taharir Square that houses Egypt's most precious antiquities, including the treasures from King Tut's tomb.  The next day, Tuesday, January 25th, the demonstrations for democracy began.

I decided to start this blog - finally - for several reasons.  First, to spare my friends the agony of having to listen to me trying to articulate what is happening in Egypt without overwhelming them with my intensity.  If anyone wants to know anything from now on - or if I want them to know something - I can just refer them to my blog and they can read (or not) at their leisure. 

Second, I decided to start this because I have been privately writing about Egypt and my life for years, planning to "someday write a book...."   But the demonstrators have made me realize that someday might never come.  The only time we have is now (that's the thought that's kept me up all night writing this first blog entry).

But third, and most important, those pro-democracy demonstrators, who have included my Egyptian sisters, brothers, nieces and nephews, have inspired me to move beyond the fear that has so far prevented me from sharing my stories and thoughts.... fear of publicly criticizing a regime because it might have ugly consequences for my Egyptian family.... fear of conservative Islamists who would take exception to many of my thoughts about Islam.  We have all moved beyond fear this week, Alhamduh Li'llah - thank God! 

Thomas Jefferson has always been my favorite American patriot, for his brilliance and for his fatal flaws.  He knew his struggle was only the beginning of a process that would have to continue in America, and then around the world.  "The God who gave us life, gave us liberty at the same time," he said.  But he also said "The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants." 
The fight for freedom is now in Egypt.  It did not really start in Taharir Square last Tuesday, and it will not be over when the regime finally falls.  I have been living that struggle in the decades since I married, and my Egyptian family and their fellow citizens have been living it for far longer than that - since Napoleon first invaded Egypt in 1798. 
This blog will be the stories of our struggles - past, present, and future.  It will be my story - a now 57 year old woman raised on a farm in Maryland; a Unitarian Universalist who left her farm, went to college and out to discover the world - France, Thailand, Peace Corps in Benin, back to Washington, DC to work and continue graduate school, and finally to meet the young doctor in Egypt who won her most important commitment.  It will also be the story of him and his family, a story that has been turned upside down since last week, and that finally needs to be told.