Podcast: Egypt’s cartoon villains and heroes

 
VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rating: 0 (from 0 votes)
VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rating: 0.0/10 (0 votes cast)

By Khaled Diab

The battle between Egyptian revolutionary and counterrevolutionary forces is being played out in caricature.

The famous satirical cartoonist, the late Mostafa Hussein, lost his sense of humour to implore Sisi to run for the presidency in October 2013.

The famous satirical cartoonist, the late Mustafa Hussein, lost his sense of humour to implore Sisi to run for the presidency in October 2013.

Thursday 18 February 2016

It’s an arresting image – both figuratively and literally. A caricature of Abdel-Fattah al-Sisi has the Egyptian president’s hands pressed over his tightly shut eyes. An anxious frown is knitted deep into the dictator’s brow and his mouth is downturned as if the weight of the country hangs off it.

Entitled ‘Shy president’, the caption reads: “I don’t like being drawn.”

The cartoon was the brainchild of the outspoken pro-revolutionary cartoonist Mohamed Qindeel, who goes by the nom de plume Andeel.

Andeel’s caricature was a graphical protest at the arrest of fellow cartoonist Islam Gawish. “When I read the news about Islam I started drawing Sisi’s face before I even knew what I’d have him say,” Andeel says. “The fact that they wanted people to think they are not allowed to draw Sisi was enough to make me sure that I have to draw him.”

Gawish’s cartoons, which tend to be simple, child-like ink drawings, have become a runaway success with Egypt’s young. One memorable Gawish cartoon mocks the duplicity of the regime’s rhetoric compared with its reality. It features a balding stickman who represents Sisi or his regime.

“You need someone who will embrace you. Come here,” the authority figure urges a group of long-faced youth. The punchline arrives in the final panel in which the youngsters are still in Sisi’s embrace but are now standing inside a cage, with him on the outside.

Many, including Andeel, are convinced that cartoons like this were the reason behind Gawish’s temporary detention, as Egypt slowly reverts to the bad old days when mocking the president was a red line.

Following massive uproar, Gawish was released. However, his short-lived detention may have already served its intended purpose. “[Gawish] is young and mostly active on the internet. He doesn’t belong to the old-school intellectuals,” explains Andeel. “So making people believe he is targeted is supposed to make people realize that the authorities are as present online… as they are in the physical world.”

And with over 1.7 million followers on his Facebook page alone, Gawish is a big fish to net.

Egypt is in the grips of a major crackdown on dissent, with thousands of activists, artists and journalists languishing behind bars or fleeing into self-imposed exile. One prominent example of this is Ramy Essam, whose daring, mischievous lyrics transformed him into the unofficial “singer of the revolution”. He is now living in relative obscurity in Sweden.

Those left behind live in constant anxiety or fear that the arbitrary net of Egypt’s resurgent autocracy could nab them next.  “I’m thinking about the possibility of going to jail for the first time in my life,” admits Andeel.

But arrest and intimidation aren’t the only weapons in the regime’s arsenal. There is also the subtle and not-so-subtle art of counterrevolution.

There has been a concerted campaign to erase the revolution’s artistic legacy, including the literal whitewashing of Egypt’s flourishing revolutionary street art.

There has also been a clear, if piecemeal, effort to co-opt artists, including actors, singers and writers. Many of them have quite literally been singing his praises, in a revival of low-quality, cloying patriotic odes to the president and to Egypt which I and many others had hoped the revolution had relegated to the dustbin of history.

Cartoonists, too, in the state-owned media and some pro-regime outlets have played their part in this effort. “These cartoons tend to mirror official policies, whether that be the president’s speeches, government slogans, or campaigns,” observes Jonathan Guyer of the Institute of Current World Affairs who specialises in Egyptian political cartoons.

Sisi’s official anointment as president and the inauguration of the much-hyped extension of the Suez Canal were particularly active periods for counterrevolutionary artists.

Sisi the sailorIn contrast to the unflattering portraits of Sisi by Andeel or by the renowned graffiti artist Ganzeer – who depicted the president with a television head on which was the face of a cartoon bunny, the portrayals of many pro-regime artists couldn’t be more ingratiating – the portrayals of many pro-regime artists couldn’t be more ingratiating.

There is Sisi the conscientious, earnest labourer straining under the burden of carrying the country on his shoulders. There is also Sisi the skipper of the good ship Egypt, navigating it through narrow, perhaps even dire, straits, while trusting, smiling, stupefyingly grateful, flag-waving Egyptians stand behind him.

One common motif is to depict Egypt as a woman, “Um el-Dunya” (Mother of the World), with Sisi as her son, guide and defender – an image, Andeel believes, is “psychologically reflective of tyranny”.

These staid, formulaic cartoons lack, in the words of Guyer, “the artistic nuance or linguistic wordplays of some of the more rabble-rousing and creative illustrators for independent media outlets”. Andeel maintains that the desire for freedom means that rebel art “will revolve around fresh ideas” and be free of monotony and repetition.

Watani habibiThat’s not to say that pro-regime art always lakes creativity or artistic merit. The propaganda songs of the Nasser years are still popular today. But that was a time in which artists seemed, despite their misgivings, to believe in the national project. They wanted optimistically to help construct a nation, not keep one from imploding.

Those supporting and praising Sisi aren’t all hired pens, some genuinely believe his rhetoric and project, while others fear the alternatives to his rule.

This public sentiment could be gleaned in the “Sisi-mania” which gripped Egypt in 2013 and 2014. Citizens spontaneously produced and consumed Sisi paraphernalia, from chocolates to perfume, in a surreal show of leader love, even lust, in the form of Sisi lingerie.

With such a public mood and mainstream media hysteria, some fear that the window for subversive caricature and radical art in Egypt has shut. But Sisi’s heavy-handed repression and failure to turn Egypt around has replaced the mania with apathy in somen and bubbling restiveness in others.

Many who had offered their conditional love are withdrawing it. An example of this Guyer points to is Amro Selim, who was one of the first cartoonists to lampoon Hosni Mubarak in caricature, in the former dictator’s final years. Angered and fearful of Mohamed Morsi and the Muslim Brotherhood, Selim was a supporter of Sisi’s violent power grab.

But Selim has gradually grown more critical. In one scathing cartoon, he has Sisi sitting on the head of a troubled journalist, like some sort of fat genie, watching carefully what the embattled hack is writing.

Abu NadaraMoreover, biting satire has been an Egyptian staple for decades, if not centuries, even if its mainstream form was forced to focus on social issues during oppressive periods.

When Egyptian rulers oppress, the satirical press doesn’t go away it just goes underground. This is reflected in Egypt’s first satirical magazine, Travels of the Man in the Blue Glasses, which was first published in 1877.

After it was banned in Egypt, its founder, Yaqub Sanu, began to publish it in Paris and thousands of smuggled copies continued to enjoy a massive underground following back home.

With social media and the internet’s intrinsic subversiveness and the endless possibilities they opens up for artists, the underground scene has grown exponentially since the days of Sanu.

And what sizzles and simmers underground is bound to, when the moment is right, bubble up to the surface again, turning counterrevolution back into revolution.

____

Follow Khaled Diab on Twitter.

This report was first broadcast on the BBC World Service’s The Cultural Frontline on  13 February 2016.

VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rating: 0.0/10 (0 votes cast)
VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rating: 0 (from 0 votes)

Related posts

The Mubarak enigma

 
VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rating: 0 (from 0 votes)
VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rating: 0.0/10 (0 votes cast)

By Khaled Diab

The removal of Hosni Mubarak was likely the proudest moment in Egypt’s recent history, yet, five years on, some Egyptians miss the deposed dictator.

Mubarak_Sadat

Tuesday 16 February 2016

It was one of those paradoxes of revolution. Hosni Mubarak’s most hotly anticipated speech was to prove to be his last.

Never much of an orator, whenever a Baba Mubarak speech was on TV, Egyptians tended to switch off. Even when the former dictator had a captive audience, they too would switch off – behind glazed eyes or patient, polite nods.

But on 10 February 2011, millions of Egyptians – on Tahrir Square, in public spaces across the country and abroad – waited with baited breath to hear whether their self-appointed leader would fall on his proverbial sword.

When he finally appeared Mubarak defied the military’s hints and disappointed the fevered speculations. Claiming that he “never sought power or fake popularity”, Mubarak insisted that it was his duty to “take Egypt and its people to a safe harbour”.

Sharing the disappointment of the jeering crowds on Tahrir, I penned a futile open letter in which I accused Mubarak of possessing the “extraordinary knack for snatching mediocrity from the jaws of greatness”.

The next day, 11 February 2011, the once unimaginable, even unthinkable, happened. Reflecting the mundanity of many historic moments, the hastily appointed vice-president, Omar Suleiman, sounding like a bored civil servant, announced Mubarak’s resignation in a short, lacklustre statement.

Egyptians partied on the streets as though Egypt had not only qualified for but also won the World Cup. And in a way it had. Against all the odds, Egyptians from all walks of life, led by their youth, had toppled the despot – whom most feared would leave office in a coffin and anoint his son to succeed him – and brought his repressive police state to its knees.

Although it was the evening twilight, it was as if a blinding new dawn had just broken.

Even though I was far away in Europe, those mesmerising 18 days were the proudest moments of my life as an Egyptian, despite my aversion to nationalism and my misgivings about how, after making Mubarak walk the plank, the army had taken over the reins of power directly.

I felt a burning pride for those millions of courageous, everyday heroes, those masses relegated to the footnotes of history, and how they had smashed their way through the margins, armed only with their willpower, to write – for better or for worse – a new chapter in Egypt’s history.

“History will judge me and others for our merits and faults,” Mubarak insisted defiantly in one of his final speeches.

And how should history judge him?

During the uprising, Mubarak reverted repeatedly to the chestnut he had been parroting for years, that the choice for Egypt was between the “chaos” of Islamism and the “stability” he supposedly safeguarded. At his trial, he returned to the theme when he blamed Egypt’s subsequent turmoil on “merchants of religion and their local and foreign allies”.

And for a surprising number of people, the mayhem and turbulence of the past five years vindicate Mubarak. A recent example of this was when the Egyptian actress May Ezzeddin, during an interview about her private life and career, suddenly decided to thank the former president for “the security I felt during your rule”.

Mubarak sorryThis sentiment is not new. Right from the start of the revolution, previously quiet Mubarak supporters suddenly emerged from obscurity to apologise to the president on Facebook, hold counter-protests, beat up protesters, and even hack revolutionary sites.

Known disaparaginly as “feloul”, the Arabic for “remnants”, many were part of or closely connected to the former regime. Others were simply those who feared the abyss and preferred the devil they knew.

So would Egypt have been better off with Mubarak?

I doubt it very much. What the former president’s supporters overlook is that Mubarak planted and nurtured the storm Egypt is harvesting now.

His three decades of one-man rule continued the stifling military dictatorship Egypt has lived under since 1952. The Free Officers’ promise to steer Egypt towards democracy after a three-year transitional period was left broken and unfulfilled for over six decades, despite the deep belief in civilian and parliamentary rule entertained by Egypt’s first figure-head president Muhammad Naguib.

Unlike efficient one-party states, such as China, Mubarak’s Egypt had no clear rules for succession and unlike his two predecessors, he even refused to appoint a vice-president, making the question of succession, even from dictatorship to dictatorship, let alone democracy, a murky one, fraught with uncertainty.

So regardless of whether or not millions had taken to the streets, Egypt was hurtling towards a brick wall come election time in late 2011 and possibly off a cliff if Mubarak were to die in office.

Corruption and state incompetence, a problem under every president, became an incurable plague during Mubarak’s years. Bringing democracy to Egypt is an easier challenge, in my view, than correcting the culture of bribery, mismanagement and incompetence dogging most sectors.

And the neo-liberal “reforms” introduced by the international financial institutions and Egypt’s politicised crony capitalists has stripped down and sold off the state and Egypt’s resources at bargain basement prices, and privatised just about everything, including the banks of the Nile.

While the 1% thrived, education, health, employment regressed to levels in which youth without the backing of well-off families found themselves under-educated, prospectless and repressed.

It was highly likely that this crumbling state, like a derelict, badly constructed house, would collapse without the big, bad wolf of the “unwashed masses” blowing it down.

The 2011 revolution has, in many ways, helped to make the most of Egypt’s sorry state. It has given Egyptians the belief that they can change their country’s unpleasant reality and it has put Egypt’s leadership on notice that, no matter what they throw at the population, if they do not deliver positive results, they could be next…

____

Follow Khaled Diab on Twitter.

This article first appeared on Al Jazeera on 11 February 2016.

VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rating: 0.0/10 (0 votes cast)
VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rating: 0 (from 0 votes)

Related posts

Egypt’s other Tahrirs

 
VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rating: -1 (from 1 vote)
VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rating: 5.5/10 (2 votes cast)

By Khaled Diab

Tahrir may have been pacified for now, but the revolution is still playing out in Egypt’s economic and social squares.

Sana Seif

Friday 5 February 2016

In January 2011, Egypt captivated the entire world but, above all else, Egyptians surprised and mesmerised themselves.

If revolution means, as the word implies, sending the established order and accepted norms into a spin, then what occurred in those heady winter days in 2011 was a revolution with a capital “R”.

Only the tyranny of death would manage to oust the ageing tyrant, many believed. Instead, millions of Egyptians taking to the streets gave Hosni Mubarak his marching orders.

Egyptians are docile and apathetic, was the received wisdom. But they shock off the chains of apparent lethargy to rise up, en masse, against the despotism of the dictator, the junta and the theocrats.

Egyptians need, nay desire, the iron fist of a strongman. Although a surprising number of people lamented the downfall of Mubarak, the majority were jubilant and partied like there was a tomorrow when the news of his demise broke.

In addition, the crowds’ sustained and uncompromising demands for bread, freedom and social justice put paid to the lie that Egyptians do not desire nor understand democracy, even if some are reluctant or passionate supporters of military or Islamist dictatorship.

Today, it is hard to believe that those momentous events occurred just five years ago. Like a 21st-century Alice, Egyptians seem to have fallen into a wormhole in which time, space and history have been warped and speeded up.

In just five years, Egypt has gone through more changes in leadership than over the preceding six decades. The country has hurtled through revolution, counterrevolution, and anti-revolution, and its people have ridden the emotional rollercoaster that has taken them from the heights of elation to the depths of deflation.

Though everything promised to change, nothing seems to have changed. This sad reality was poignantly summed up by the solitary courageous protester, Sanaa Seif, who marched defiantly through the indiffrent traffic on Tahrir Square with a short bearing the slogan: “It’s still the January revolution“.

This has led to a sense of despondency and despair, with many signing off on the revolution’s death certificate or, worse, claiming that it was never born in the first place.

But is this disillusionment justified?

It is true that the existing order has proven remarkably adept at clinging on to power. First, the regime sacrificed its head to save its body. Then the military attempted to rule directly and co-opt the revolutionaries. Failing this, it hid behind the democratic façade provided by a pliant Muslim Brotherhood. When Mohamed Morsi got too big for his shoes, he was unceremoniously evicted and the apparent loyalist he appointed to run the armed forces, Abdel-Fattah al-Sisi, became Egypt’s newly minted military dictator.

The counterrevolution has been so apparently successful that it seems to have brought Egypt full circle back to square one. However, appearances are deceptive.

The incremental and unprecedented use of force and coercion, not to mention efforts to frighten the population into submission, are signs of weakness, not of strength. It betrays just how desperate the regime has become after everything has failed to keep a rebellious population in check.

And even though Egypt’s jails are overflowing with prisoners of conscience, not to mention all the dead, other activists, critical journalists and outspoken citizens take their place, some many times over.

Ahmed Gamal Zyada is just one “typical” example of this courage in the face of adversity. A journalist who previously spent 500 days in prison, he was recently stabbed and left for dead in what his family allege was a political assassination attempt.

“I’m not going to lie, pretend that I’m a hero and say I don’t feel fear,” Zyada said in an interview after his release from prison. “I am afraid, but I’m not going to be silent.”

But it is not just revolutionaries who feel fear. Despite being the one with the guns, the soldiers, the police and the prison cells, the al-Sisi regime is the one that is acting terrified, especially so in the run-up to 25 January.

This panicked fear has been amply demonstrated by what has been described as “the toughest security crackdown in Egypt’s history” which has included a spate of arrests, and the random, arbitrary searching of thousands of downtown apartments.

The underlying reason for this fear are clear: while Egyptians have changed, their leaders have not, and they live in a delusion that the old ways can be restored through violence. “A profound gulf now exists between a ruling class intent on governing as if nothing has changed and large swathes of a democratic citizenry for whom something fundamental has altered,” writes Jack Shenker, who covered the revolution for the Guardian, in The Egyptians, a new book which will be released soon.

In addition to the ferocity of the counterrevolution, the trouble with the revolution was that the euphoria it aroused raised too many high expectations. Problems that have accumulated over the six decades since the army took over power take time to unravel. The brutality of the modern Egyptian state over the past two centuries cannot be blunted immediately. The damage done by foreign control and meddling that has been Egypt’s lot for more than two millennia cannot be repaired in an instant.

When the revolution first erupted, I argued that a political revolution will fail without an accompanying social (r)evolution, to dethrone the million “mini-Mubaraks”, weed out endemic corruption, promote equality and egalitarianism, create a meritocracy and more.

While the political revolution has stalled, the social and cultural one is in full swing. It has been spearheaded by workers demanding their rights, women struggling for equality, and the growing assertiveness of previously discreet minorities, such as atheists. Young people have perhaps been the greatest agitators for change and have given their elders lessons in courage, determination and grit – schools have even become breeding grounds for rebels.

Even if Tahrir has been pacified for now, Egypt’s thousand of mini “Tahrirs” have not. This is reflected in the paradox that, despite or perhaps because of the escalating use of state violence, the number of daily protests under Sisi is almost triple what they were under Morsi and five times higher than the turbulent final years of Mubarak’s rule.

Although Egyptians did not heed the call of the shrunken ranks of activist to take to the streets once again on 25 January, it does not mean they won’t ever again. Egyptians have discovered their latent ability to move immobile mountains and broken the fear barrier.

When they do eventually rise again, a deep social revolution may enable them to unleash their creativity to the maximum – perhaps even reinventing democracy to suit their needs.

“I am deeply convinced that the future is ours and that we are now witnessing the beginning of the end of this tyrannical state,” believes Khaled Fahmy, a history professor who has been chronicling the revolution.

____

Follow Khaled Diab on Twitter.

This is the updated version of an article which first appeared on Al Jazeera on 23 January 2016.

 

VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rating: 5.5/10 (2 votes cast)
VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rating: -1 (from 1 vote)

Related posts

One year on: Gazans feel the pain of being abandoned by Egypt

 
VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rating: 0 (from 0 votes)
VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rating: 0.0/10 (0 votes cast)

By Khaled Diab

Although the Israeli siege of Gaza hurts more materially, the Egyptian blockade is more painful emotionally. It is also counterproductive.

Photo: ©Khaled Diab

Photo: ©Khaled Diab

Friday 24 July 2015

With all the paranoia and distrust in the air, many fellow Egyptians may well declare me temporarily insane for having ventured into the Gaza Strip, which I visited late last month. The Palestinian enclave is depicted by influential segments of the Egyptian media as a hornet’s nest of terrorism and anti-Egypt sentiment.

But I’d like to reassure my compatriots that they can breathe a sigh of relief. This born and (partially) bred Egyptian made it in and out of Gaza in one piece, and has emerged – after seeing the destitution, destruction and psychological ruin there – more convinced than ever that the blockade imposed by Israel and Egypt must end.

In case any readers assume that I’m pro-Hamas or even pro-Muslim Brotherhood, let me make it clear from the outset that I am a committed secularist and a robust critic of Islamism and religious fundamentalism in all its forms. But as a rationalist, I take an evidence-based approach to reality. This means that I don’t buy the popular conspiracy theories in Egypt about Gaza.

With a straight face, Egypt’s pro-military media has been spreading numerous myths. These include reports that Hamas is behind the Sinai insurgency; that it aided and abetted Muslim Brotherhood rule in Egypt, including a spectacular prison break involving Mohammed Morsi before he became president; and that the blackouts and petrol shortages afflicting a country of 85 million inhabitants were caused because the Morsi regime supposedly diverted supplies to an impoverished territory of 1.8 million people.

But memories are short. In reality, Morsi was not as sympathetic to Gazans as is widely believed today. He continued his predecessor Hosni Mubarak’s blockade policy, and even destroyed smuggling tunnels and worked to stop the flow of fuel into the Strip. In fact, Morsi was regularly praised in the Israeli press and by politicians, while being attacked by Hamas officials as crueller than Mubarak.

But Gazans are not the type to hold a grudge against Egyptians, regardless of what the Egyptian government does or doesn’t do.

Although I was not afraid to enter Gaza, I was somewhat apprehensive about what kind of reception I would get from a population that had suffered so much under the Israeli-Egyptian blockade. But despite the criticism of Egypt I heard from pretty much everyone I met in Gaza, I was still the recipient of Gazans’ famed hospitality and generosity – and I got to hear their nostalgic memories of the days when no border existed between Egypt and Gaza.

People in Gaza are generally bewildered and hurt by Egypt’s participation in the blockade and the smears against them in the Egyptian media, which they feel adds political insult to the injury of living under siege. “Why is Egypt doing this to us?” was a common question I heard, and I had many long discussions on the subject.

Despite the hardship caused by Israel’s wartime destruction of lives and property, as well as its land and sea blockade, Gazans tend to find Egypt’s blockade more emotionally painful because they view Egypt as a traditional and staunch ally. “We regard Egyptians as our brothers, and we share a long history together,” one older, secular Gazan told me. “But Egyptians now regard us as Muslim Brotherhood.”

“For most people, their only exit is the Rafah crossing,” the deputy foreign minister of Hamas, Ghazi Hamad, told me. “When Egypt closes it, the Gaza Strip becomes a giant prison. It’s like a cage.”

Photo: ©Khaled Diab

Photo: ©Khaled Diab

In Palestinian Rafah, from the rooftop of a destroyed building near the crossing, which has mostly been shut tight since Morsi’s ouster in July 2013, Egyptian Rafah – with its newly leveled “buffer zone” – is visible mockingly in the distance, with its broken promise of relief and escape. Meanwhile, the network of tunnels that had provided just such relief and escape, as well as contraband weapons, lies collapsed under the ground.

By coincidence, the Rafah crossing was open during my visit, but only for three days and only for those coming from Egypt into Gaza. Meanwhile, more than 15,000 people were registered on a Hamas waiting list to go abroad, including the sick and wounded, and those with work or family commitments abroad; thousands more wait in the wings. “We have wounded people who have died because they couldn’t get out from either Erez or Rafah to receive treatment,” Hamad told me told me. “You also have people who have lost their university placements.”

I met one of these academics, who returned to Gaza after last summer’s war to check on his family and take them with him to Malaysia, where he planned to complete his doctorate in English literature. “The plan was to spend two or three months in Gaza, but almost nine months later, I am stuck and can’t leave,” he told me at a beachside cafe, the frustration of limbo visible on his face. “If I had stayed, I could have finished my Ph.D. by now.”

“Egypt has to open Rafah, not as charity, but as a duty towards fellow human beings,” he added.

Beyond the humanitarian imperative, opening up Rafah has important geo-strategic benefits for Egypt. It is not in Egypt’s self-interest to have an island of suffering and seething frustration on the border of the already restive Sinai region. In 2008, hundreds of thousands of Gazans breached the wall and entered Sinai. That time, they went shopping and peacefully returned to their homes. With the multiplied level of destitution, next time something like this happens, they may refuse to return.

But Egypt shouldn’t view Gaza solely as a threat. Opportunities abound: Gaza’s presence on its doorstep can actually help reduce the restiveness in Sinai by giving residents of the economically challenged peninsula a nearby export market.

Moreover, though nearly 170 times the size of Gaza, the sparsely populated Sinai is home to a third of the Palestinian enclave’s population. An open economic area between the two could be a win-win for both sides.

____

Follow Khaled Diab on Twitter.

This is the extended version of an article which first appeared in Haaretz on 22 June 2015.

VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rating: 0.0/10 (0 votes cast)
VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rating: 0 (from 0 votes)

Related posts

A Riche chapter of Egyptian history

 
VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rating: 0 (from 0 votes)
VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rating: 0.0/10 (0 votes cast)

By Khaled Diab

For a century, Café Riche was a microcosm of Cairo’s bewildering contradictions, and a “refuge from the pain of loneliness”  for intellectuals. 

Image: AUC Press

Image: AUC Press

Tuesday 10 June 2015

With the recent death of Café Riche’s proprietor, Magdy Abdel-Malak, downtown Cairo’s most famous intellectual salon has shut its doors once again – this time, possibly permanently. By so doing, it has gone from a place where significant chapters of Egypt’s modern political, intellectual, cultural and social history were written to become an iconic footnote in the country’s tumultuous modern history.

Though its dated glass-and-wood exterior is unremarkable to the 21st-century passer-by in the city of a thousand minarets and a café on every corner, Riche was at the throbbing heart of Egypt’s intellectual and political life for the greater part of the 20th century.

Riche dates back to what many Egyptians regard as Cairo’s belle époque. Built in 1908 on the grounds of a former royal palace, it started life as a modest coffee shop for the inner city’s wealthy and well-heeled European and elite Egyptian residents.

It gained its name when a Frenchman briefly took over the café’s proprietorship. Just as Khedive Ismail had intended his new European-style capital to be a “Paris on the Nile” – almost bankrupting Egypt in the process – Café Riche was modelled on its Parisian namesake.

Open from 1785 to 1915, the French Café Riche was frequented by some of Paris’s literary and intellectual giants, including legendary writers Alexandre Dumas and Émile Zola, of “J’accuse” fame.

Cairo’s Café Riche became a similar cultural and intellectual magnet when it was taken over by Greek-Egyptian Michelle Nicola Bolitez, who was a lover and patron of the arts. He set up a theatre there that soon become one of the most well-known performance spaces in town.

The Cairo in which Riche established its glory was a dizzying city of bewildering contrasts and contradictions. It was a grand European metropolis just down the river from the ancient native city. At once an inclusive multicultural melting pot, it largely excluded the local population who were forced to live by a separate set of laws. An elitist playground for pashas and the nobility, its streets teemed with high-born and minority socialist and nationalist revolutionaries, including a number who barely spoke Arabic. The city was also a space where the shoots of liberal democracy were kept from blossoming by the combined might of the palace and the British.

Café Riche was, in many ways, a microcosm of these different realities. While well-to-do customers enjoyed the singing skills of the likes of then-pro-royalist new talent Um Kalthoum  – who later became the legendary “Star of the Orient” – anti-British agitators printed pamphlets for the 1919 revolution in the café’s basement.

And its involvement in political intrigues did not end there. In 1919, a young medical student sat patiently in wait of prime minister Youssef  Wahba, who was a Riche regular, and as his car approached the young radical attempted but failed to assassinate him.

Back then, revolutionaries clashing with the British sometimes sought shelter inside Riche, which became a regular target of police raids. Nearly a century later, a different generation of revolutionaries, this time revolting against a native tyrant, also found refuge from the teargas-infused utopia of Tahrir Square.

It is reputed that Gamal Abdel-Nasser and his fellow Free Officers partly planned the 1952 revolution in Riche – though other downtown political cafes also claim that honour.

At first, the army’s coup gave a shot in the arm to Egypt’s native leftist and liberal intellectuals, revolutionaries and writers, including Nobel laureate Naguib Mahfouz, who held his literary court there for many years.

But these artists and intellectuals soon discovered that Egypt’s management had changed but its intolerance of free thought and dissent had not. Though remembered for his persecution of the Muslim Brotherhood, Nasser was no more tolerant of secularists who disagreed with him, and his political prisons overflowed with communists, non-Nasserist leftists and old-school Wafdist liberals.

Riche, like downtown Cairo, entered a period of long decline. Anwar al-Sadat, in his bid to neutralise Nasserist influence, cracked down hard on leftists and embraced the Islamists (a decision which was to cost him and Egypt dearly).

This deprived the café of a significant portion of its clientele and those that remained drew in on themselves, disillusioned that their high hopes for Egypt had fallen so low, as the state turned on them and a growing current in society turned away from them. With nowhere left to gather, secular youth either went underground or fell into the cynical arms of apathy, while others rushed into the comforting embrace of Islamist certitude.

This led to a period of intellectual and political navel-gazing in which Riche became the “whole world”, in the words of poet Naguib Sorour, for the dwindling ranks of its oft-hard-drinking punters, for whom Sorour drafted a tongue-in-cheek Protocols of the Wise Men of Riche.

Naguib Mahfouz’s introspective 1983 novel The Day the Leader was Killed is partly set in Café Riche – which is described as a “refuge from the pain of loneliness” – and explores, through the allegory of numerous narrative, the theme of where Egypt’s post-independence experiment went wrong.

Hosni Mubarak’s tenure drove the last nail into the esteemed establishment’s coffin. In 1990, Café Riche closed under mysterious circumstances and was seriously damaged by the 1992 earthquake.

At the birth of the new millennium, I attended its reopening a decade later, during an art festival designed to revive downtown’s downtrodden cultural scene. Colloquial poet of the working class Ahmed Fouad Negm, who seriously lost his way in his final years, was, as his name suggests, the star of the evening. The man who once expressed unbridled contempt for what he viewed as Riche’s fat-cat intellectuals was its guest of honour.

As if to show he still possessed his famed irreverence, he read from his poem ‘Long live the people of my country’ in which he ridiculed what he perceived as the empty rhetoric and detachment from reality of the Richesque, their impotence, and the ease and smugness with which they formulated glib solutions to the country’s woes.

Like Negm himself, the nouveau Riche was a poor imitation, even a parody of its former self. With its framed portraits of the lates and greats who frequented the establishment, it was like walking into a museum or a hall of fame and no longer a buzzing intellectual factory of the future.

At the time, I wondered in an article whether Riche would be able to resurrect its spirit and not just its ghost. Though it still managed to pull in some of the biggest names in Egypt’s intellectual scene, many found it had lost its touch and was far too elitist for Egypt’s more egalitarian young radicals.

Despite its rich history, or because of it, Riche managed to pull in far more tourists than members of the young and re-energised intelligentsia, apart from briefly during the revolution.

Unfortunate as it is in terms of Egypt’ cultural heritage, Riche’s closure will have only a marginal impact on downtown’s cultural scene. The young and creative have returned in droves in recent years, intent on reviving and reinventing Cairo’s heart. They have carved out their own alternative spaces, including art-houses, street art and even old-style tea houses and shisha joints which attract not just radical young men but rebellious young women.

____

Follow Khaled Diab on Twitter.

This article first appeared on Al Jazeera on 26 May 2015.

VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rating: 0.0/10 (0 votes cast)
VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rating: 0 (from 0 votes)

Related posts

The tip of Egypt’s snobbery iceberg

 
VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rating: 0 (from 0 votes)
VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rating: 0.0/10 (0 votes cast)

By Khaled Diab

The replacement of one snobbish justice minister in Egypt with another who believes judges are lords and masters shows how deep elitism runs.

A_Group_of_Boys_at_Moqattam_Village_Dec_2009Wednesday 20 May 2015

Mahfouz Saber was certainly no minister of social justice. The now-former Egyptian justice minister said during a television debate that the judiciary was not a suitable career option for the offspring of rubbish collectors and other modest occupations because “a judge must hail from an appropriate environment”.

His remarks, which effectively marked millions of Egyptians as human refuse relegated to the dustbin of society, unleashed a wave of popular outrage across Egypt. “When the concept of justice is absent from the nation, nothing remains,” tweeted Egyptian Nobel laureate and former figurehead of the anti-Mubarak opposition Mohamed ElBaradei, who is himself a legal scholar.

Part of the outcry was due to the symbolic importance of Saber’s job, even if the judiciary does discriminate against women too. As justice minister, he must have been aware that his remarks conflicted with the guarantees of equal opportunities and the prohibition of discrimination based on class, religion, race or gender enshrined in Egypt’s constitution, not to mention the many international human rights treaties to which Egypt is a party.

In addition, for the millions of Egyptians who took to the streets during the revolution to demand “bread, freedom and social justice”, this was yet another rude slap in the face reflecting how little Egypt had changed in the meantime.

The blogger Mina Fayek saw the incident as “yet [more] proof that justice in Egypt is just a farce”. With Egypt’s increasingly politicised judges meting out once-unimaginably draconian rulings, including mass death sentences, it is hard to believe today that the judiciary was until very recently seen as one of the few (relatively) independent institutions and an important check on the executive’s excessive powers.

As calls for Saber’s resignation multiplied, the justice minister was persuaded to fall on his word, with Prime Minister Ibrahim Mahlab saying that the disgraced minister was leaving out of “respect for public opinion”.

Though this is a hugely important symbolic victory for the cause of equal opportunity in Egypt, Saber’s attitude is simply the tip of Egypt’s snobbery and nepotism iceberg. The opinion Saber voiced was more politically incorrect than factually incorrect – and not just in the judiciary. People applying for prestige posts, such as the diplomatic corps, are routinely vetted socially.

In fact, a number of activists recalled the tragic case of Abdel-Hameed Sheta who, even though he came first in the entry exam for the diplomatic corps and had proven himself repeatedly at university, was passed over because he was deemed “unsuitable socially.” After years of material sacrifice on the part of his impoverished parents and endless hard graft on his part, the shock proved too much for Sheta and he took his own life.

Some believe that nepotism also played a role. Whether or not it did in Sheta’s case, it certainly is rampant in Egypt, where the sons and daughters of the wealthy, well-positioned and powerful mysteriously always seem to land on their feet, even if it crushes other people’s toes.

That is why Egyptians have so many colloquial synonyms for nepotism and cronyism, including the famous Arab-wide expression “wasta” (“connections”) and “mahsoubiya” (“cronyism”), as well as the baffling “kousa” (“courgette”). Claims voiced by a leading judge have emerged that Saber himself got into the judiciary thanks to his father’s wealth and the good word of his uncle, a prominent judge.

This social reality is a far cry from the ideals espoused by two revolutions, in 1952 and 2011. The Free Officers were successful in abolishing the old feudal order and the monarchy, and their socialist-inspired coup brought about universal education, land reform and introduced the principle of egalitarianism.

However, it quickly became apparent that the old landed gentry were simply replaced by a new elite made up of army officers, who talked the talk of equality but walked a very different walk. With the neo-liberal reforms first introduced by Anwar al-Sadat and completed by Hosni Mubarak, the military top brass allowed a new business elite to join it at the high table, bringing Egypt full circle.

Throughout, and despite the lip service paid to equality, classism has survived in Egypt at most strata of society. This is reflected in how the old titles, such as Pasha and Bey, though robbed of any official weight, continue to be used with gay abandon by Egyptians wishing to express deference to people they see as their social betters.

It also lives on in such insulting descriptions as referring to someone as being “ibn/bent nas” (“son of people”), as if implying that others are the offspring of animals, or the lengths to which many Egyptian families go to ensure that their children marry someone of their class.

That said, there is social mobility in Egypt, as reflected in the (relatively) modest backgrounds of every single Egyptian leader since 1952, and the opportunities afforded many by universal education when it was still of a decent level.

However, many who do make it up the ladder, too often kick it away and many even downplay their own roots, as reflected, for example, in how almost anyone with an education or career, regardless of where they came from, adopts the Cairene accent of the well-to-do.

For a beautiful, fleeting moment in the Republic of Tahrir these class divisions were ignored and there was a conscious effort to erase them. Let’s hope the justice minister’s departure is a sign that Egyptians are rediscovering their appetite for social justice.

President Abdel-Fattah al-Sisi swears in Ahmed al-Zind.

President Abdel-Fattah al-Sisi swears in Ahmed al-Zind. Photo: Egyptian presidency

 

Unfortunately, the state has shown its own appetite to be lacking in this respect. In fact, in Egypt, justice has proven itself to be both blind to reason and deaf to protest. As if to slap down those who dared object, it was announced that Saber’s replacement would be Ahmed al-Zind, whom has been described as just as elitist “yet more extreme“. As a sign of this extremism, al-Zind said in a controversial 2014 television interview: “On the land of this homeland, we are the lords, and others are slaves.”

It is clear that al-Zind is no fitter to be justice minister than his predecessor. I think it’s time to start a campaign to demand the new minister’s resignation and ask that al-Zind be replaced by the son of a rubbish collector from al-Zabbaleen. Only then can we be certain that we will have a justice minister who cleans up garbage rather than spews it out.

____

Follow Khaled Diab on Twitter.

This is the updated version of an article which first appeared on Al Jazeera on 12 May 2015.

VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rating: 0.0/10 (0 votes cast)
VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rating: 0 (from 0 votes)

Related posts

Freedom of repression in Egypt

 
VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rating: 0 (from 0 votes)
VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rating: 0.0/10 (0 votes cast)

By Khaled Diab

The Republic of Tahrir revolutionaries dreamt of an Egypt of freedom, but the only thing that seems free these days is the value of human dignity.

Saturday 10 January 2015

In December 2011, the glimmer of hope that would spark revolution across the Arab world was ignited in Tunisia with its jasmine-scented revolution. While Tunisians have managed to take advantage of the intervening four years to set in motion a process of rapid democratisation – including two sets of free elections (2011 and 2014), the drafting of a non-partisan constitution, not to mention the democratic and peacefaul transfer of power – other countries in the region have not been so fortunate.

The Tunisian path of consensus politics, which helped the country navigate some of the greatest hazards and perils of revolution in a largely peaceful manner, has been absent from Egypt, where each change in leadership came with a “winner takes all” confrontational and combative attitude.

As we approach the fourth anniversary of the Egyptian revolution, the high hopes of “bread, freedom and social justice” seem as far away as ever – some fear that they have moved impossibly out of reach.

In addition to the nose-diving economy, which has been kept afloat since 2011 through the largesse of the Gulf allies of the moment, this regression has been felt acutely and painfully in the area of freedom of expression, particularly the media.

While the revolutionaries of the Republic of Tahrir had dreamt briefly of an Egypt that would be a beacon of freedom, the only thing that seems free these days is the value of human dignity. The counterrevolution – which actually began with the ouster of Hosni Mubarak, when the regime amputated its head to keep its body intact – seems to be reaching an end goal of sorts, through a process of heavy-handed crackdowns and co-options.

In terms of repression, 2014 was a particularly harsh year, in which Egypt found itself in the uncoveted top 10 jailers of journalists. “Egypt more than doubled its number of journalists behind bars to at least 12, including three journalists from the international network Al Jazeera,” said the Committee to Protect Journalists (CPJ), an independent NGO based in New York which has been dubbed “journalism’s Red Cross”.

Like Al Jazeera’s Baher Mohamed, Mohamed Fahmy and Peter Greste, many of the imprisoned journalists listed by CPJ are accused of having links or sympathies with the previous regime of Mohamed Morsi. These include members of the highly influential citizenship journalism site Rassd News Network (RNN), which is affiliated with or at least sympathetic to the now-outlawed Muslim Brotherhood.

RNN’s Mahmoud Abdel Nabi has been in jail the longest of the dozen reporters behind bars. He was arrested, in July 2013, while covering clashes between pro-military and pro-Morsi protesters in Sidi Beshr, Alexandria. He is accused of inciting violence and the possession of weapons.

The other RNN staff members in jail are Samhi Mustafa and Abdullah al-Fakharany,  who were indicted in February, along with dozens of others, for allegedly “forming an operations room to direct the Muslim Brotherhood to defy the government”.

Even for journalists without any alleged political allegiances, simply doing their jobs during the dispersal of the al-Raba’a and al-Nahda protest camps – which Human Rights Watch calculates led to the death of at least a thousand, including four journalists – could easily land them in jail.

This is exactly what happened to the freelance photojournalist Mahmoud Abou Zeid, a contributor to the UK-based citizen journalism site and photo agency Demotix, who was arrested in August 2013 while covering the dispersal, though the French photographer and Newsweek journalist he was with were later released.

Some reporters have fallen foul of the regressive and controversial anti-protest law passed in 2013. These include Ahmed Gamal, a photojournalist with the online news network Yaqeen, who was arrested on 28 December 2013 while covering student protests at al-Azhar University in Nasr City, Cairo. Ahmed Fouad of the local news website for Alexandria, Karmoz, who was arrested in January 2014 during pro-Muslim Brotherhood protests in Sidi Beshr.

Despite such incidents, the anti-protest law is intended primarily for protesters and dissidents, both of the Islamist and secular variety. In fact, some are convinced that this law criminalising dissent is part of a “targeted mission to eliminate the prominent revolutionary figures”. This political purge has targeted such leading revolutionary figures as the sibling duo, Alaa Abdel-Fattah, who is accused of not being a “true” revolutionary and of seeking the country’s “destruction”, and Mona Seif, who went on a hunger strike for 76 days to protest her brother’s incarceration.

The al-Sisi regime has also had reformists and human rights defenders in its crosshairs. These include Yara Sallam, a transitional justice officer at the independent Egyptian Initiative for Personal Rights (EIPR), who was sentenced to three years at the end of October for allegedly participating in a political march. In December, this was reduced to two years.

EIPR and other NGOs in Egypt are threatened with closure due to the government’s insistence to apply the letter of a controversial 2002 law and even more regressive draft legislation.

But coercion is not the only tool the regime wields. It has also blended this with the co-option of high-profile voices. A number of prominent private television channels and TV personalities have weighed in behind Abdel-Fattah al-Sisi’s leadership.

This was on clear display during last summer’s war in Gaza. For example, the regime’s leading cheerleader, Tawfik Okasha, ridiculed Gazans for not being “men” because “if they were men they would revolt against Hamas,” he blasted.

Beyond the media, some lawyers have taken it as their personal mission to shut down free speech. A recent example was the law suit brought against the famous pro-revolutionary Egyptian actor Khaled Abol-Naga which accused him of “high treason” for daring to criticise President al-Sisi. The case has triggered a wave of anger and protest amongst artists.

Although “Sisimania” has cooled down considerably since the former general became president, there are still many patriotic readers who take any sleight to the leader personally, as reflected in the mirthless reactions of readers to the cartoons and caricatures of Mohamed Anwar.

To add insult to injury, the regime has co-opted the revolution itself and has appointed itself as its sole guardian and guarantor, as reflected in the presidential decree al-Sisi intends to issue which “criminalises insulting the 25 January and 30 June uprisings”.

The regime is also positioning itself as the self-appointed defender of public morality, as highlighted in the recent spate of arrests of alleged homosexuals, in spite of the fact that homosexuality is not actually illegal, as well as the arrest of people suspected of being atheists, despite their being no law in Egypt outlawing atheism, and the recent closure of what the media dubbed the “atheists’ café”.

Amid this onslaught on the media and the freedom of activists and citizens to express their political thoughts, it is easy to feel despair for Egypt’s future and its people’s aspirations for freedom, dignity and equality.

However, it is important to contextualise matters. Despite the devolution, Egypt at its worst is still freer and its people more openly defiant than just about everywhere in the Gulf at their best. For instance, Qatar’s domestic media does not enjoy freedom nor does it agitate for it, exercising a great deal of self-censorship.

Contrast that to Egypt where, despite all the crackdowns, arrests and intimidations, there are still independent voices who refuse to be cowed, coerced or co-opted. This is embodied in Egypt’s dynamic citizen journalism scene and its independent publications, such as Mada Masr.

Even private TV does not always sing from the government’s hymn sheet. A recent example of this was an ONtv programme exposing the ill-gotten gains of the mysterious billionaire Hussein Salem, who was recently acquitted of corruption charges alongside his patron, Hosni Mubarak.

Many activists and human rights defenders are still striving to fight the corner of freedom. The award-winning Association for Freedom of Thought and Expression (AFTE) has not taken the regime’s recent infringements lying down. It has issued numerous scathing reports on the subject, including one entitled “Has journalism become a crime in Egypt?”

Understandably, the ranks of the defiant are shrinking in Egypt, as many once-critical voices are silenced and an increasing number of journalists and activists take flight mostly out of despair, but also out of fear.

But this situation is not inevitable nor necessarily indefinite. Just as a generation of young idealists defied all odds and expectations to bring the regime to its knees, the spirit they set free may be suppressed for a time but it cannot be extinguished.

____

Follow Khaled Diab on Twitter.

This article first appeared in Al Jazeera on 28 December 2014.

VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rating: 0.0/10 (0 votes cast)
VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rating: 0 (from 0 votes)

Related posts

Egypt’s centuries-old leadership vacuum

 
VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rating: 0 (from 0 votes)
VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rating: 0.0/10 (0 votes cast)

By Khaled Diab

Decades of authoritarianism and centuries of non-indigenous rule have led to a shortage of effective native leaders in Egypt, derailing the revolution.

Field Marshal Tantawi: Mubarak 2.0. Photo: ©Khaled Diab

Photo: ©Khaled Diab

Thursday 25 December 2014

Hosni Mubarak, the face which launched thousands of street protests, was cleared of ordering the killing of hundreds of protesters and numerous corruption charges related to his three decades on Egypt’s republican throne were also dropped.

The news of the ex-dictator’s acquittal has hit activists and pro-revolution Egyptians like a rude kick in the groin, leading to angry protests on campuses across the country. The man who symbolized everything that was wrong with Egypt in 2011 walked scot free under the auspices of the man who presides over everything that’s wrong with Egypt in 2014: Abdel-Fattah al-Sisi.

By walking free, Mubarak – who inadvertently gave birth to the Egyptian revolution when he stepped down – may harken the revolution’s death knell, at least for the time being.

Some believe the situation is even worse. Writing in the Washington Post, Eric Trager argued that “the ‘revolution’ didn’t die… a true revolution never happened in the first place.” Trager contends that the uprising in Egypt not only failed to bring about revolutionary change, a substantial percentage of the population did not desire it, wishing only for elusive “stability”.

What his assertion overlooks is that many revolutions fail to bring about the radical change they seek, such as the 1848 Spring of Nations revolutionary wave in Europe.

Moreover, if significant opposition is a yardstick, then many of the world’s most iconic revolutions would not qualify as such, including in America and France. Besides, if history is any indication it’s far too early to call the final outcome of the Egyptian revolution, since its French predecessor took generations before it achieved its goals of “liberté, egalité, fraternité”.

Despite Trager’s assertions, it is not apathy or the longing for stability that have foiled Egypt’s revolutionary aspirations.

In my view, it is a question of leadership and its accompanying political culture. On the one hand, there is the deep state which has robustly done everything within its power not to cede power. On the other, it is the leaderless nature of the revolution, which was a strength at first because it made it impossible for the state to control, but became a liability later when strong leadership was urgently required to give the popular uprising direction.

The immediate reason for this was Hosni Mubarak’s 30-odd years of autocratic rule, which deepened the state’s grip on power while eliminating viable alternative leaderships. This followed the preceding three decades of similar dictatorial rule, in the shape of Anwar al-Sadat and Gamal Abdel-Nasser before him.

Some interpret this as a manifestation of some kind of ancient Pharaoh complex on the part of Egyptian leaders. But this reductionist interpretation fails to explain why most of the region’s leadership is likewise deluded, even though their countries were not part of the Ancient Egyptian tradition of the absolute god-king.

Personally, I think Egypt and the Arab world’s leadership crisis can best be attributed to centuries of foreign rule and domination. This had the dual effect of destroying or downgrading the indigenous cadre of leaders and putting in place a damaging leadership culture.

In Egypt’s case, before Mohamed Naguib’s rise to power in 1952, one must go back nearly two and a half millennia to find Egypt’s last native leader: Nectanebo II, who was overthrown in 342BC by a combined Greek and Persian force.

Though Alexander the Great was regarded as a liberator from Persian rule in Egypt – and even the illegitimate son of Egypt’s last pharaoh – and the Ptolemaic dynasty regarded themselves as pharaohs, the Egyptian political and social order was stacked in favor of ethnic Greeks and a Greek-speaking Egyptian elite, leading to numerous rebellions, including the “great revolt” of 205-186 BC.

In the two millennia since the death of the last Ptolemaic pharaoh, the legendary Cleopatra VII, Egypt’s fortunes have waxed and waned. Roman rule retained the relative privilege of Egyptian Greeks while adding another layer of exploitation, transforming this fertile, rich country into Rome’s grain silo.

Even when Egypt went from being a province to being an independent imperial power, these Nile-based empires were invariably foreign ones in which the locals were marginalized and largely excluded from the corridors of power. This was the case with the mighty and largely religiously tolerant Fatimid caliphate, which established glittering Cairo near ancient Memphis in the tenth century.

The Mamluk era (1250–1517) saw the novel situation of Egypt being ruled by a caste of warrior slaves. Though Egypt thrived economically and culturally, the centuries of Mamluk rule witnessed chaotic and bloody transitions of power between competing pretenders. Despite the infighting, the Mamluks agreed on one thing: though ostensibly slaves, they were the “true lords” while the supposedly freeborn native Egyptians were their serfs.

When the Ottomans conquered Egypt, they retained the Mamluks as their vassals which, like the Roman era, doubled the tax burden on the Egyptian masses, with a share going towards subsiding the ruling elite’s lavish lifestyles and a share going to Constantinople.

In the early 19th century, Egypt was purged of its Mamluks by a commander in the Ottoman Empire who wanted the country all to himself: Muhammad Ali, who had officially come to reclaim Egypt for the Sultan after Napoleon’s short-lived and disastrous occupation.

Despite being Albanian, Ali is widely regarded as being the father of modern Egypt. Wishing to create a modern state along European lines, he realised the importance of harnessing, educating and empowering (somewhat) the native Egyptian population.

Ali not only developed an advanced industrial base for the country, he also built a modern army, bureaucracy and education system where Egyptian citizens could find opportunities for mobility beyond the farming and industry to which they were previously confined.

But Ali retained the Mamluks fixation on militarism and he was obsessed with building a European-style army to carve out an empire for his dynasty. This placed a huge burden on Egypt’s peasantry in the form of high taxation and conscription.

Given the centuries of militarism of the ruling foreign elites and how the army had become one of the few means of social mobility for the native population, it is no surprise that Egypt’s first modern nationalist leader with any real authority was an army officer, Ahmed Urabi.

Urabi’s rebellion against the vassal Khedive Tawfiq, which threatened Anglo-French interests, led the British to formally occupy Egypt, though they kept the Muhammad Ali dynasty in power as clients. Following the heavy burden placed on Egypt during World War I, opposition to British rule grew massively, leading to the 1919 revolution.

The revolution succeeded in gaining only partial independence for Egypt and resulted in a liberal, democratic parliament, though one that was largely toothless due to the combined influence of the palace and the British.

The seething dissatisfaction with this arrangement led to widespread protests following World War II, but it was only the army that proved to have the clout to dislodge the king and the waning British.

But rather than hand over power to an elected parliament as the Free Officers had promised after an initial transition, the lure of power proved too irresistible. Although Egypt’s new rulers were native Egyptians, rather than dismantle the centuries of imperial legacy hobbling their fellow citizens, they kept in place many of the timeworn instruments of repression and marginalisation, despite some reforms.

Like Egypt’s various foreign rulers, the new officer elite viewed with suspicion any contenders or opponents, crushing and suppressing rivals. Hosni Mubarak went so far as not even to appoint a vice-president.

This centuries-long legacy helped lead to the leaderless revolution of 2011. This does not mean that Egypt is void of talent that can govern the country fairly and effectively. There is plenty of that. However, Egypt’s political culture does not encourage this talent to rise and there are no mechanisms for the peaceful and smooth transfer of power.

____

Follow Khaled Diab on Twitter.

This is an extended version of an article which first appeared in Haaretz on 10 December 2014.

VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rating: 0.0/10 (0 votes cast)
VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rating: 0 (from 0 votes)

Related posts

Save the Nile Delta, President al-Sisi

 
VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rating: +2 (from 2 votes)
VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rating: 0.0/10 (0 votes cast)

By Khaled Diab

Egypt would be much better off saving the sinking ship of the Nile Delta instead of building a white elephant Suez Canal II.

Save the Nile Delta. Image: NASA

Save the Nile Delta. Image: NASA

Thursday 18 September 2014

Egyptian presidents have long been fond of symbolic mega-projects. In addition to the practical benefits they were expected to perform, these show-pieces had the dual purpose of demonstrating how apparently visionary the dictator of the moment was, his patriotism and benign influence, as well as a tool for cobbling together a semblance of national unity and purpose.

Gamal Abdel-Nasser had the Aswan High Dam, which was intended to electrify the public towards his ambitious Arab socialist development programme. However, disagreement over financing prompted him, in 1956, to nationalise the Suez Canal to pay for the dam, leading to war with Britain, France and Israel. Anwar al-Sadat’s mega-project was to cross the Suez Canal militarily to regain the Sinai territory Egypt lost to Israel in 1967, and defeat not only Egypt’s neighbouring enemy but also to silence his domestic ones.

Hosni Mubarak had his Toshka project which was meant to create a new Nile Valley to absorb some of the country’s runaway population growth and the alarming loss of arable land to urban development. Toskha would achieve this by diverting water from Lake Nasser into the desert with the aim of expanding Egypt’s agricultural acerage by 10%. Despite its noble ambitions, “Mubarak’s pyramid”, as this largely aborted super mega-project was described, has only delivered a molehill due to mismanagement and poor planning.

Only a few months into his presidency, Abdel-Fattah al-Sisi has already broken ground on his own mega-project, billed not as the new Nile Valley but as the new Suez Canal. While Nasser nationalised the Suez Canal and Sadat’s army crossed it, Sisi’s ambition is to expand the waterway by building a second, 72km-long channel that is expected to boost the traffic passing through Suez. The project also fits into the government’s ambition to transform the Suez region into an industrial, technological and international trading hub.

But this poorly conceived project is already smashing against the rocks of unexpected problems. On a fundamental level, some experts wonder whether the extension will actually boost the Canal’s capacity, since more than 90km of the waterway will remain single-carriage. In addition, there may simply not been enough additional demand from shipping to justify the new investment.

On top of that, the project has already run into expensive technical complications. Ignoring warnings by irrigation experts, the digging began too close to the original Canal which has caused the site to fill with groundwater. Pumping the excess water out carries a price tag of $1 million per day.

It is my view that, rather than yet another white elephant mega-project, Egypt would be much better off diverting the estimated $8.4 billion it will cost to build Suez Canal II to another, far more pressing mega-project: Nile Delta I.

Since ancient times, the Nile Delta, which covers 25,000 square kilometres and houses nearly half of Egypt’s population, has been the national breadbasket but also that of various empires. Yet this extremely fertile fan of land in the middle of the desert is under serious threat from a two-pronged attack: rising sea levels caused by global warming and sinking sediment due to the silt being blocked upstream by the Aswan High Dam.

The Delta is quite literally sinking into the sea, but few officials seem unduly alarmed by this impending shipwreck. Despite the economic, social and national security implications of this catastrophe-in-the-making, no Egyptian government has taken any substantial action to beat back this erosion, aside from constructing a few measly dykes and barriers to protect important urban areas on the coast.

This is doubly surprising in light of the decades of forewarnings provided by both local and international experts. For example, more than a quarter of a century ago, researchers at the Smithsonian Institute delivered dire warnings about future disaster.

Today, the alarm amongst experts has reached fever pitch. “The total [area of the Delta] expected to be impacted by a rising of the sea level by one metre during this century will be 8,033 square kilometres, which is nearly 33% of the total area of the Nile Delta,” predicted Khaled Ouda, a geologist at Egypt’s Assiut University, in an interview with Al Jazeera earlier this year.

In addition to the loss of precious agricultural land, this would turn millions of people in one of the most densely populated places on Earth climate refugees.

Given that rising sea levels and a sinking delta would redraw Egypt’s natural map more radically than ISIS has redrawn Iraq and Syria’s political one, the price of averting this disaster is surprisingly low – less than half al-Sisi’s Suez Canal project.

A plan proposed by Egyptian engineer Mamdouh Hamza involves the construction of a concrete wall along the Delta’s entire coastline and skirting it with a plastic diaphragm to prevent saltwater seepage. Total estimated cost: just $3 billion. The remaining billions can be invested in building impenetrable barriers several metres below sea level to hold the crumbling Delta in place and avoid sea water salinating the Delta’s aquifer.

Beyond these emergency measures, Egypt needs innovative solutions to replenish the Nile Delta through restoring the flow of natural silt, which not only protects against sea erosion but also acts as a powerful natural fertiliser. But this is more easily said than done, since the silt is sitting at the bottom of Lake Nasser a thousand kilometres downstream.

Inaction on these fronts will make the fallout from the revolutions and counterrevolutions that have gripped Egypt since 2011 seem like a minor distraction. Failing to protect the gift that is the Delta will turn the Nile into a curse for Egypt.

____

Follow Khaled Diab on Twitter.

This article first appeared in The National on 8 September 2014.

VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rating: 0.0/10 (0 votes cast)
VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rating: +2 (from 2 votes)

Related posts

لماذا لا يدان الفساد في مصر؟

 
VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rating: 0 (from 0 votes)
VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rating: 0.0/10 (0 votes cast)

بقلم أسامه دياب

قصص من أروقة العدالة المصرية تشرح لنا كيف يمنح القانون المصري الحصانة للفاسدين.

الثلاثاء 10 يونيو 2014

في يوم من أيام شهر يناير 2009، ذهب وهبة عيسى أمين عام وزارة البترول إلى القصر الجمهوري ليسلم اللواء مصطفى شاهين، سكرتير الرئيس السابق، لفافة أرسلها له وزير البترول السابق سامح فهمي ليرسلها إلى الرئيس السابق محمد حسني مبارك، حسب تحقيقات النيابة مع مبارك في الجناية رقم 3642 لسنة 2011. بعدما تسلم اللواء مصطفى شاهين اللفافة طلب من فوزي شاكر مقار تسليمها لمبارك وتوجه معه في السيارة وسلم اللفافة حال وصوله للمقر، وفقا للتحقيقات مع مقار.

كان باللفافة سبيكة ذهب وزنها 5.5 كيلوجرام بحيث تكون قيمتها وفقا لأسعار الذهب الحالية حوالي مليون وستمائة ألف جنيه مصري. ظلت السبيكة في مسكن مبارك منذ يناير 2009 حتى التاسع من مايو 2011 أي بعد أربعة أشهر من اندلاع ثورة يناير 2011، و بعد القاء القبض على مبارك وتوجيه تهم له بالكسب غير المشروع، تبرع حينها بالسبيكة الذهب لمتحف هدايا رئيس الجمهورية في قصر عابدين بعد إحتفاظه بالسبيكة في منزله الخاص لمدة تزيد عن عامان، حسب أقواله في تحقيقات النيابة.

“هو ممكن يكون سلمنى اللفافة ولم أفتحها وتركتها ونسيتها،” جاء رد مبارك في تحقيقات النيابة عند مواجهته بالأمر.

وأضاف مبارك: “أنا لم أفتحها ونسيت أن أقوم بإيداعها بالمتحف كالمعتاد مع كل الهدايا التي تقدم إلي في الرئاسة … أنا أخذتها على البيت لغاية لما أتأكد هي إيه بالضبط عشان كدة لم أتركها بمقر الرئاسة واللي حصل إن أنا لم أشاهدها ونسيتها.”

قامت مدى مصر بزيارة متحف رئيس الجمهورية في قصر عابدين للاطلاع على السبيكة لكن لم تكن السبيكة معروضة.

هذه السبيكة هي أول انتاج لمنجم السكري للذهب في جنوب مصر وهو أحد أكبر مناجم الذهب في العالم والذي بدأ الإنتاج به عام 2009 ويتم استخراج الذهب منه من قبل وزارة البترول والثروة المعدنية وشركة سنتامين الأسترالية الذي يرأس مجلس إدارتها رجل الأعمال الأسترالي من أصل مصري جوزيف الراغي.

الشخص الذي قام بإرسال اللفافة هو سامح فهمي وزير البترول الأسبق والمتهم في العديد من قضايا الفساد. تولى سامح حقيبة وزارة البترول في 10 أكتوبر 1999 وحتى إندلاع ثورة يناير لمدة إثنى عشر عاما وهو من أكثر الوزراء الذين استمروا في منصبهم في عهد مبارك بجانب وزير الثقافة فاروق حسني (24 عاما)  والمشير حسين طنطاوي وزير الدفاع الأسبق (21 عاما) وصفوت الشريف في وزارة الإعلام (22 عاما) وحبيب العادلي وزير الداخلية الأسبق (14 عاما).

شهدت فترة قيادة فهمي لقطاع البترول والطاقة المصري تطورات كثيرة وقضايا فساد عديدة وأنتهت فترته ببداية أزمة حادة في الطاقة شعر بها جميع المصريين في شكل انقطاعات يومية للتيار الكهربائي.

وجزء من سبب أزمة الكهرباء التي تعيشها مصر حاليا هو نقص الغاز الطبيعي والذي تنبئت الحكومة بأن الطلب عليه سيتخطى المتاح من الإنتاج المحلي، وقد بدأت مفاوضات تصدير الغاز السرية والمثيرة للجدل للأردن وأسبانيا وإسرائيل مع تولي سامح فهمي حقيبة الوزارة.

ووفقا لعبد الخالق عياد، رئيس مجلس إدارة الهيئة العامة للبترول سابقا، تقدم رجل الأعمال الهارب المدان في قضايا فساد حسين سالم في أبريل 2000-أي بعد ستة أشهر من تولي سامح فهمي مسئولية وزارة البترول-بطلب لفهمي لشراء كميات من الغاز الطبيعي بغرض تصديره لتركيا واسرائيل مقابل مبلغ دولار ونصف لكل مليون وحدة حرارية بريطانية مع تثبيت السعر خلال فترة التعاقد.

ووفقا لمحمد كامل العيسوي، وكيل أول وزارة البترول لشئون الغاز سابقا، فقد تم تكليفه بإعداد دراسة سعرية لتقدير قيمة تكلفة إنتاج الغاز الطبيعي وتحديد الشروط التعاقدية مع شركة حسين سالم، وجاءت الدراسة بأن تكلفة إنتاج مليون وحدة حرارية بريطانية وقتها واحد ونصف دولار وتم عرض الدراسة على اللجنة العليا للغاز التي يرأسها سامح فهمي.

لكن من الواضح أن سامح فهمي لم يعجب بهذا العرض، وفي نفس اليوم الذي تقدمت فيه شركة غاز شرق المتوسط بطلب جديد تضمن تعديل السعر إلى 75 سنتا وهو نصف تكلفة الإنتاج وفقا لتقرير محمد كامل العيسوي، قام فهمي بتكليف حسن محمد عقل نائب رئيس الهيئة العامة للبترول للإنتاج سابقا وإسماعيل كرارة نائب رئيس الهيئة العامة للبترول للتخطيط بإعداد مذكرة أخرى يخصم من تكلفة إنتاج الغاز عن طريق استبعاد قيمة الرسوم والضرائب التي تدفعها الهيئة واستبعاد تكلفة استخراج الغاز من حقل غرب الدلتا العميق ومرتفع التكلفة مما أدى إلى خفض تكلفة الإنتاج إلى 68 سنتا مع العلم بأن الغاز الروسي-وهو من أرخص أنواع الغاز- كان ثمنه يتراوح بين 1.99 و2.51 دولار آنذاك، وفقا لأمر الإحالة في القضية المعروفة إعلاميا بتصدير الغاز إلى إسرائيل. المذكرة الثانية التي تشتمل على التسعير البخس هي التي لاقت نصيبها من الحظ وهي التي قدمها سامح فهمي إلى مجلس الوزراء في إجتماعه بتاريخ 18/9/2000 وتم الموافقة عليها. وتم التعاقد على نفس هذه الأسعار بدون زيادة بعد خمس سنوات في 13/6/2005 مع شركة غاز شرق المتوسط لصاحبها حسين سالم بغرض تصديره لإسرائيل.

وقال رمزي حلبي الخبير الاقتصادي بجامعة تل أبيب في لقاء مع قناة روسيا اليوم بتاريخ 26/2/2011 أي بعد نحو إسبوعين من الإطاحة بمبارك: “إسرائيل تستورد حوالي 4 مليارات دولار من الغاز المصري سنويا <…> على المدى القصير. هناك تأثير سلبي لعدم ضخ الغاز المصري إلى إسرائيل <…> هناك بديل من عدة دول في الغاز بشكل سائل لكن أيضا لازم نعرف إنه في العشر سنوات الأخيرة الاستيراد من مصر يوفر على الاقتصاد الإسرائيلي 10 مليار دولار. أولا الأسعار متدنية جدا اللي بتاخدها إسرائيل من مصر. ثانيا هي ترغم باقي الشركات المنافسة على خفض أسعارها.” (رابط)

وكان حسين سالم الذي يملك حصة 70% آنذاك من شركة غاز شرق المتوسط يعمل مع سامح فهمي في مصفاة ميدور قبل توليه لوزارة البترول في عام 1999. ولم يكن لشركة غاز شرق المتوسط دور يذكر في عملية بيع الغاز إلى إسرائيل إلا شراءه من الشركة القابضة للغازات والهيئة العامة للبترول ب 0.75-1.25 دولار وبيعه لإسرائيل ب 2.25 دولار، وفقا لأقوال رئيس المخابرات العامة ونائب رئيس الجمهورية السابق عمر سليمان في تحقيقات النيابة في قضية تصدير الغاز لإسرائيل.

وفقا لعمر سليمان قام سالم بتأسيس شركة الغاز التي ربحت المليارات جراء تصدير الغاز بسعر بخس إلى إسرائيل بتكليف من رئيس الجمهورية الأسبق “لسابق خبرته في التعامل مع الإسرائيليين في مشروع مصفا ميدور”.

ولكن قد يكون هناك سبب آخر وراء إختيار مبارك لسالم للاستحواذ هذه الصفقة المربحة لشركته ولكن المكلفة لخزينة الدولة، وهي الصداقة التي تربطه بمبارك والتي ارتبطت بتقديم العطايا. تجلت هذه الصداقة في بيع حسين سالم خمس فيلات في شرم الشيخ لمبارك ونجليه بسعر شديد الرمزية في نفس العام الذي بدأت فيه مفاوضات بيع الغاز لإسرائيل، فالفيللا التي قضى مبارك بها أغلب وقته في سنوات حكمه الأخيرة وشهور قليلة ما بعد الثورة حتى لحظة القبض عليه تم “شراؤها” من شركة نعمة جولف بسعر أقل كثيرا من قيمتها السوقية. تقع الفيلا الرئيسية المملوكة لحسني مبارك على مساحة تزيد عن 15 ألف متر مربع (حوالي 4 فدادين) في موقع متميز في محافظة جنوب سيناء في مدينة شرم الشيخ السياحية بجوار الفندق الشهير المملوك لحسين سالم هناك.

وفقا لتقرير الخبير الهندسي الذي قامت به إدارة الكسب غير المشروع لتقدير قيمة تلك الفيللات والذي تقدمت به للمكتب الفني للنائب العام، فالخمس عقود مشهرة رقم  293 و 294  و295 و296 و297 جميهما بتاريخ 14/10/2000 نظير 500 ألف جنيه و400 ألف جنيه و400 ألف جنيه و300 ألف جنيه و300 ألف جنيه “دفعت نقدا بالكامل ليد البائع من المشتري”. وإذا نظرنا للفيلا الخاصة بالرئيس السابق نجد أن متوسط سعر المتر كان 31 جنيه مصري فقط، ومتوسط سعر المتر لإجمالي مساحة الخمس فيللات البالغة 22435 متر مربع كان 84 جنيه مصري.

وفقا لذات التقرير الذي يقارن سعر هذه الوحدات بمثيلاتها التي بيعت بعد فيللات عائلة مبارك بشهرين، قامت شركة نعمة جولف للاستثمار السياحي ببيع 23 فيللا على مساحة 21،000 متر (أي أقل من مساحة فيللات عائلة مبارك) مربع بعقد مشهر رقم 362 جنوب سيناء بتاريخ 17/12/2000 بمبلغ 35،650،000  أي بمتوسط سعر للمتر المربع 1697 جنيه مصري أي حوالي 54 ضعف الثمن الذي حصل عليه مبارك.

وجاء بنص التقرير الخبير الهندسي: بمراعاة تاريخ إنشاء الفيللات محل الفحص ونوعية التشطيبات بها وموقعها فـإننا نقدر سعر متر للفيلات أرقام 1 و2 و3 3000 جنيه/م2 وللفيلا رقم 4 بمبلغ 2000/م2 والفيلا رقم 5 بواقع مبلغ 1200 جنيه/م2 وسعر المباني شامل سعر تكاليف انشاءات حمامات السباحة الخاصة بها.” وقدر التقرير مجموع قيمة المباني الحاصل عليها عائلة مبارك من حسين سالم “سبعة وثلاثون مليونا وستمائة وتسعين وثمانون ألفا وخمسمائة جنيه وهذا بخلاف أعمال اللاندسكيب والتشجير والأعمال الكهربائية والميكانيكية لحمامات السباحة وأعمال الانشاءات المستجدة التي لم تتم حتى الآن. وعليه سعر الفيلات الثابت بالعقود لا يتناسب مع القيم السوقية وقت الشراء.”

ووجه المحقق موجها سؤاله لمبارك: “ما قولك فيما ورد بمحضر تحريات مباحث الأموال العامة من أن ثمن شراء الفيلات الخاصة بكم من شركة حسين سالم لا يتناسب مع ثمن المثل فى وقت الشراء، وأنه يقل كثيرًا عن الثمن المناسب، وأنه ثبت من الاطلاع على عقود شراء شركة المهندسون المصريون للاستثمار العقارى شراؤها لعدد من الفيلات بمساحة 750 مترًا للواحدة فى أماكن أقل تميزًا بمبلغ يتراوح بين مليون جنيه و300 ألف جنيه إلى مليون وتسعمائة ألف جنيه؟”

مبارك: معرفش

لماذا لم يدان المتهمين؟ انقضاء الدعوى الجنائية بالتقادم أو بالتصالح

 كانت قد وجهت المحكمة إنهام لمبارك ونجليه  تهم استعمال نفوذ وقبول عطية ووجهت لسالم تهمة تقديم عطية في القضية المعروفة إعلاميا “بمحاكمة القرن”. المحكمة في حكمها الأولي الصادر في يونيو 2012 لم تنكر وقوع الجرم ولكنها قضت بانقضاء الدعوى الجنائية لمرور عشرة أعوام على وقوع الجريمة وهي فترة التقادم في الجنايات حسب المادة 15 من قانون العقوبات التي تنص على: “تنقضى الدعوى الجنائية فى مواد الجنايات  لمضى عشر سنين من بوم وقوع الجريمة وفى مواد الجنح بمضى ثلاث سنين  وفى مواد المخالفات بمضى سنة مالم ينص القانون على خلاف ذلك.”

وتصف منظمة الشفافية الدولية اسقاط تهم الفساد بالتقادم بإنه “عد تنازلي نحو الإفلات من العقاب” وتقترح عدة إجراءات أهمها المرونة في تحديد مدة التقادم في الوظائف التي تمنح أي نوع من أنواع الحصانة وقت ارتكاب الجريمة، ويكون التساؤل المشروع هنا، هل كان هناك إمكانية لكشف هذه الواقعة وإجراء التحقيقات قبل إنتهاء مدة التقادم والرئيس مبارك مازال في الحكم؟

ومن لم يفلت من العقاب بقانون الإجراءات الجنائية يستطيع الإفلات بقانون ضمانات وحوافز الاستثمار الذي يجيز التصالح مع المستثمر المعتدي على المال العام في مادته السابعة مكرر التي تنص على: “يجوز التصالح مع المستثمر في الجرائم المنصوص عليها في الباب الرابع من الكتاب الثاني من قانون العقوبات التي ترتكب منه بصفته أو بشخصه أو التي اشترك في ارتكابها … ويترتب على تمام التصالح وفقا لما سبق انقضاء الدعوى الجنائية بالنسبة للمستثمر”. ورحبت فعلا حكومة حازم الببلاوي بعرض التصالح الذي قدمه أحد الأركان الأخرى في القضية وهو حسين سالم، الذي تم الحكم عليه غيابيا بالسجن 15 سنة في قضية تصدير الغاز إلى إسرائيل بسبب هروبه إلى أسبانيا خلال الثورة مستغلا جنسيته الأسبانية (رابط)، أما سامح فهمي فما تزال محاكمته جارية بعدما قضت محكمة النقض بإعادة محاكمته بعد إدانته في قضية تصدير الغاز لإسرائيل.

رئيس الهيئة والوزير والمستثمر: نفس الشخص

في يوم الأربعاء الموافق 23/8/2006 قام أحمد المغربي رئيس هيئة المجتمعات العمرانية الجديدة وهو نفسه وزير الإسكان وشريك أساسي في شركة بالم هيلز بتحرير عقد بيع إبتدائي مع إبن خالته وشريكه في شركة بالم هيلز للتعمير ياسين منصور بحيث يبيع المغربي ممثلا عن هيئة المجتمعات العمرانية أرض مساحتها ما يقرب من مليون متر مربع في القاهرة الجديدة بثمن قدره 241 مليون جنيه مصري، أي بنحو 250 جنيه للمتر المربع لإبن خالته وشريكه رجل الأعمال الهارب ياسين منصور. وأصبحت قطعة الأرض تلك فيما بعد منتجع بالم هيلز القطامية الفاخر. ووفقا لتقرير أصدره المركز المصري للحقوق الاقتصادية والاجتماعية عن هذه القضية، فإن ثمن المتر وفقا لهيئة مفوضي الدولة وصل إلى 4000 جنيه مصري في هذه المنطقة في ذلك الوقت مما تسبب في إهدار ثلاثة مليارات و622 مليون و500 ألف جنيه مصري.

وجاء تعليق محكمة القضاء الإداري على تخصيص هذه الأرض المملوكة للدولة بالأمر المباشر في حكمها ببطلان العقد أن “التصرف في الأرض محل النزاع بالأمر المباشر يكون قد جاء في غير الأحوال المرخص بها قانونا، ومتجاوزا أحكام القانون، وبعيدا عن سلطة الجهة الإدارية المتعاقدة المقررة قانونا مما لا مناص معه من القضاء ببطلان العقد محل النزاع، سيما وأن الأوراق أظهرت قيام المدعي عليها بإجراء مزادات لبيع أراضي تملكها في ذات المنطقة التي تقع بها الأرض محل النزاع وفي مناطق أخرى وحصلت من خلالها على أعلى الأسعار المطروحة في المزاد، وأن تصالحها بالأمر المباشر في الأرض محل النزاع حرم الدولة من أموال طائلة من سعر الأرض كان ممكن الإفادة بها في تحقيق التوازن الإجتماعي وخلق فرص عمل للشباب.”

ووفقا لوثيقة صادرة من جهاز الكسب غير المشروع حصلت عليها <<مدى مصر>> ، كان علاء مبارك شريك في شركة بالم هيلز للتعمير بنحة 33 مليون سهم بقيمة إسمية حوالي 66 مليون جنيه ونسبة 3.12% من رأسمالها وإمتلك علاء مبارك أيضا حصة تقدر ب3,12% من شركة بالم هيلز للشرق الأوسط والاستثمار العقاري، حسب الوثيقة.

وقت وقوع هذه المخالفات وهذا التعارض الصارخ في المصالح بين واجبات المغربي العامة كمسئول في الدولة ومصلحته الخاصة كشريك في “بالم هيلز”، لم يكن قد صدر بعد قانون ينظم مسألة حظر تعارض مصالح المسئولين في الدولة وهو الذي كان سيعرض حال وجوده حينها المغربي للحبس والغرامة ولكنه كعادة الأشياء جاء متأخرا ولم يترك باب قانوني إلا الطعن على العقد إداريا أمام القضاء الإداري.

وينص قانون حظر تعارض مصالح المسئولين في الدولة الذي مررته حكومة الببلاوي الانتقالية على العقاب “بالحبس أو الغرامة التي لا تقل عن العائد الذي تحقق ولا تزيد على ضعفه أو بإحدى هاتين العقوبتين، كل من خالف أحكام هذا القانون.” ومن أحكام هذا القانون إنه “يكون التعارض مطلقا إذا كانت ملكية الأسهم والحصص في شركات خاضعة لرقابة المسئول الحكومي أو تابعة له بشكل مباشر أو غير مباشر، وفي هذه الحالة يتعين عليه التصرف في ملكيته خلال مدة الشهرين المشار إليهما أو ترك المنصب أو الوظيفة العامة.

وتعرف منظمة التعاون الاقتصادي والتنمية (OECD)  تعارض مصالح المسئولين العموميين على إنه تعارض بين الواجبات العامة والمصالح الخاصة لدى الموظفين العموميين، حيث يكون للموظف العام مصالح خاصة قد تؤثر على أداءه لواجباته ومسئوليته العامة.

وتؤكد اتفاقية الأمم المتحدة لمكافحة الفساد-المصدقة عليها مصر-على ذات المبادئ وتلزم الدول الموقعة والمصدقة على الاتفاقية باتخاذ ما يلزم من تدابير مختلفة لتعزيز وترسيخ وتفعيل هذه المبادئ. وتوصي الاتفاقية في مادتها السابعة على ضرورة سعي كل دولة طرف “إلى اعتماد وترسيخ وتدعيم نظم تعزز الشفافية وتمنع تضارب المصالح.”

وتوصي ذات الاتفاقية في مادتها الثامنة على سعي كل دولة طرف إلى “وضع تدابير و ونظم تلزم الموظفين العموميين بأن يفصحوا للسلطات المعنية عن أشياء تتضمن ما لهم من أنشطة خارجية وعمل وظيفي واستثمارات وموجودات وهبات أو منافع كبيرة قد تفضي إلي تضارب في المصالح مع مهامهم كموظفين عموميين.”

وتلزم أيضا الاتفاقية في مادتها الثانية عشر الدول المصدقة على ” ترويج استخدام الممارسات التجارية الحسنة بين المنشآت التجارية وفي العلاقات التعاقدية بين تلك المنشآت والدولة”

أروقة العدالة في مصر بها قصاصات لحكاوي فساد قد تملأ غرفا بل ومباني كاملة، وهذه ليست محاولة لحصر قضايا الفسادلإستحالة الفعل بسبب كثرتها بل لإلقاء الضوء على بعض أسباب صعوبة إدانة الفساد في مصر رغم تفشيه عن طريق النظر لنماذج لبعض حالات الفساد الصريح التي لم تتحقق فيها العدالة بسبب سرية العقود واسقاط تهم الفساد بالتقادم وعدم وجود اتفاقيات تبادل متهمين، وغياب آليات لمنع تعارض المصالح، وحتى في حالة تحقق العدالة يمنح القانون فرصة شراء البراءة بمبالغ زهيدة فيما يعرف بالتصالح وغيرها من الثغرات القانونية التي دائما ما تأتي في لصالح المتهم بالفساد. حتى يومنا هذا لم يتم إدانة شخص واحد من رموز مبارك في قضية فساد بحكم حضوري  وتراوحت الأحكام الصادرة بين البراءة وإعادة المحاكمة بعد الإدانة بحكم اولي، أو إنهاء القضية بالتصالح.

____

A shorter version of this article first appeared on Mada Masr on 30 May 2014. 

VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rating: 0.0/10 (0 votes cast)
VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rating: 0 (from 0 votes)

Related posts