“All in all, the way in which Copts are discussed, both in Egyptian public discourse and in the international media, seems stuck in the nineteenth century, with commentators still relying on the conventional wisdoms of the millet paradigm – according to which Ottoman rulers relied upon clerical leaders to represent the political interests of their respective sects. Under these circumstances, how can one possibly have a meaningful conversation about citizenship – about how the Egyptian revolution might shape conceptions of Egyptian identity?

Despite the hopes that accompanied the January 25 Revolution in this regard, important conversations about citizenship simply are not happening in post-revolutionary Egypt. What makes this all the more remarkable is that, at nearly every previous revolutionary juncture in Egypt’s modern history – 1882, 1919, and 1952 – there was a serious and sustained engagement with the issue of citizenship. Indeed, one might have thought that, not least given its Christian minority, Egypt would have been the Arab uprising context most likely to confront the citizenship question.”

—Has Citizenship Got a Future in Egypt?

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“Two years ago today, Egyptians celebrated their toppling of President Hosni Mubarak and looked ahead to a future of change. Yet the second anniversary of Mubarak’s departure has been marked by further demonstrations, bloodshed, and new scenes of extreme state violence. Amidst the now routine use of tear gas and live fire on protests nationwide, there was the incredible footage of the repeated beating and violation of a citizen stripped naked by a gang of policemen in riot gear, and the death by brutal police torture of Popular Current activist Mohamed El-Gendy.

In this latest wave of national mobilization, Egyptians have been challenging a new president, whom they have dubbed “Mohamed Morsi Mubarak.” With this wordplay, and with the photo-shopped posters to match, Egypt’s revolutionaries have been demolishing the myth of the democratic legitimacy of the current incumbent, and ultimately that of the transitional period to which Egypt was subjected in 2011-12. They are also signaling that the revolution continues, a slogan that is hard to dismiss today.

Youthful political activist Ahmad Douma captured this reality perfectly in his retort to Abdel Moneim Abul Fettouh’s initiative for dialogue with Morsi: “this is the kind of talk that can be said in a television studio, but it has nothing to do with the street. Talk of dialogue while people are being killed is unacceptable. We should be talking about the president, who, for me and the people on the street, is not legitimate. He is merely a criminal on the run…” Activist and revolutionary icon Ahmad Harrara stated simply: “Morsi is not my president because he is a liar.” How did Morsi become Mubarak in just seven months? And how has the revolution grown to cope and resist?

Mubarak’s rule was reviled for many reasons, multiplying down the class scale. The language of the call to protest on 25 January 2011 gives the best indication: It was declared against “torture, poverty, corruption and unemployment.” There was also a clear rejection during the eighteen days and afterwards of Mubarak’s deferent foreign policy pact with the United States and Israel. And yet, since the accession to the presidency of Muslim Brother Mohamed Morsi in summer 2012, each one of these political grievances has been refueled and reloaded.”

—Mohamed Morsi Mubarak: The Myth of Egypt’s Democratic Transition

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“Samira Ibrahim did not claim the category of the Virgin as a sacred space of refuge. She did not fight her brutalization in the tired terms of honor and righteousness. She fought it on political grounds. She confronted the precipice at which her flesh and its openings had become the terrain of public scrutiny, and defying descent she decided instead to walk all over it.”

Read more - The Meaning of Revolution: On Samira Ibrahim

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The Revolution Will Not Be Celebrated

The common, seemingly benign question “where were you during the revolution” leaves most partisans of the January 25 Revolution with a strong sense of unease. While it is obvious that the question, whenever it comes up, is almost always posed in reference to the 2011 eighteen days of national protests that led to the end of Hosni Mubarak’s thirty-year rule, this innocent query fails to do justice to the belief that the revolution and the eighteen-day uprising are not one and the same. The phrasing of the question, moreover, proceeds on an assumption that the revolution ended with Mubarak’s departure, and that what followed was “politics as usual.” This assumption happens to coincide with a narrative that successive wielders of power have tried to sell to the Egyptian people over the past two years, namely one that purports that the revolution succeeded (and therefore “ended”) with Mubarak’s departure, and that dissenters need to vacate public squares and factories, and begin deferring to their “elders” among the politicians, the legislators, and the constitution writers. “Where were you during the revolution,” in other words, is a question that evokes our own fears about the counter-revolution and its efforts to build a popular consciousness that reduces the January 25 Revolution to an event of the past—one that warrants commemoration and celebration—and not a living phenomenon and an ongoing struggle that has ways to go. These concerns are heightened at a time when it has become acceptable in international media to call revolutionaries “anti-Morsi protesters” or “the secular opposition,” embracing the distortive view that the struggle for revolutionary change in Egypt has taken a backseat to ideological spats and partisan politics.

This is to say that partisans of the revolution in Egypt confront more than just a battle against the wielders of power as they continue to resist calls for transformative change, demands for social and economic rights, and efforts to create a meaningful social depth for the January 25 Revolution. They also face a serious battle against the hegemonic narrative that the days of revolution in Egypt are over, and that the country has re-entered into a state of normalcy in which contentious political action is no longer deemed socially or legally acceptable. Aware of the fact that the revolution’s biggest enemy today is the past tense, advocates of change in Egypt are refusing to celebrate the January 25 Revolution, and are taking to the streets and the squares to renew their commitment to “bread, freedom, and social justice”—the same words that brought the Egypt of Hosni Mubarak and Ahmad Ezz to its knees and that are seriously challenging the Egypt of Mohamed Morsi and Khairat El-Shater.

Continue reading here.

For additional readings on the January 25 anniversary:

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[The Arab Image Foundation’s archive search page.] “I Have The Picture!” Egypt’s Photographic Heritage between Neoliberalism and Digital Reproduction (Part II) The Arab Image Foundation (AIF)—a private archiving initiative founded by a group of artists and collectors in 1997, and run through foreign and local grants—appears on the surface like the very antithesis of the Library of Alexandria in Egypt (discussed in Part I of this article). While based in Beirut, the AIF holds a substantial collection of photographs from Egypt and represents an important model of archive and heritage-making in the region. The AIF’s approach to preserving and curating its extensive photographic collection is highly professional. Its online database is well presented, described, and sourced. The author and source (provenance) of every image is acknowledged on the main website. Additional information about the technique and size of each photograph appears through the advanced search option once the viewer has registered on the website (registration is free). However, this online database is not entirely immune from criticism, most notably in how its search categories are constructed. Many of the categories are poorly chosen and seem to reflect the database-maker’s own research interests: categories such as “old woman,” “smiling,” or “frowning” are subjective. While information about photographic technique and artifact size is given, there is no indication of medium (e.g., carte postale, carte de visite, part of an album, loose mounted or unmounted print). Such information remains crucial to the social and cultural historian in order to understand the circulation and usage of any given photographic object. Photographs should, ideally, also be scanned with their edges visible. Cropping the edges of a photographic object strengthens its reading as a dematerialised “image,” as it denies a key feature of its “objectness.” In this particular context, cropping the photograph’s edges is one way the AIF translates a three-dimensional social object into a two-dimensional aesthetic text. Compared to the Library of Alexandria, however, and compared to the very poor archiving record of the region in general, the AIF database appears as a breath of fresh air. Despite its shortcomings, it was clearly conceived by archivists (or by artists and photographers who share the archivist and historian’s respect for the artifact) as well as for researchers. Read more

[The Arab Image Foundation’s archive search page.]

“I Have The Picture!” Egypt’s Photographic Heritage between Neoliberalism and Digital Reproduction (Part II)

The Arab Image Foundation (AIF)—a private archiving initiative founded by a group of artists and collectors in 1997, and run through foreign and local grants—appears on the surface like the very antithesis of the Library of Alexandria in Egypt (discussed in Part I of this article). While based in Beirut, the AIF holds a substantial collection of photographs from Egypt and represents an important model of archive and heritage-making in the region.

The AIF’s approach to preserving and curating its extensive photographic collection is highly professional. Its online database is well presented, described, and sourced. The author and source (provenance) of every image is acknowledged on the main website. Additional information about the technique and size of each photograph appears through the advanced search option once the viewer has registered on the website (registration is free). However, this online database is not entirely immune from criticism, most notably in how its search categories are constructed. Many of the categories are poorly chosen and seem to reflect the database-maker’s own research interests: categories such as “old woman,” “smiling,” or “frowning” are subjective. While information about photographic technique and artifact size is given, there is no indication of medium (e.g., carte postale, carte de visite, part of an album, loose mounted or unmounted print). Such information remains crucial to the social and cultural historian in order to understand the circulation and usage of any given photographic object. Photographs should, ideally, also be scanned with their edges visible. Cropping the edges of a photographic object strengthens its reading as a dematerialised “image,” as it denies a key feature of its “objectness.” In this particular context, cropping the photograph’s edges is one way the AIF translates a three-dimensional social object into a two-dimensional aesthetic text. Compared to the Library of Alexandria, however, and compared to the very poor archiving record of the region in general, the AIF database appears as a breath of fresh air. Despite its shortcomings, it was clearly conceived by archivists (or by artists and photographers who share the archivist and historian’s respect for the artifact) as well as for researchers.

Read more

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“The 25 January mass uprising, the tumultuous eighteen days in Tahrir Square and the ensuing marches, mass protests, and occupations that have not ceased to grip the country ever since have done more than simply bring about the downfall of Hosni Mubarak and pose a challenge to those who have succeeded him. The new political culture that emerged in the wake of this revolution has, first and foremost, heightened the sense of an individual and collective quest for freedom and, consequently, has altered practices and perceptions about public space. The traditional policing of Egypt’s urban spaces—backed by the infamous emergency law, a huge police presence on the street and the sprawling high walls of gated communities and shopping malls—has long intimidated citizens and defined the limits of their entitlement to public space. Whether they were activists mobilizing against the regime, lovers seeking brief moments of intimacy, or the poor hoping for moments of respite from their grinding daily misery, Egyptians were physically barred from accessing public spaces. The sense of empowerment gained through taking to the streets over the last two years has not managed to negate the policing regime altogether but it has most certainly led to what many have since called the (re-)appropriation of public space. The millions who experienced the freedom of coming out onto the streets to protest, debate, and exchange ideas with fellow citizens whom they never had the opportunity to meet openly before could no longer be restrained by the same oppressive regime, at least not completely.”

—Read more on Ordering the Disorderly? Street Vendors and the Developmentalist State

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“The looming danger for the Islamists is not a failure of policies, but the rapid erosion of Morsi and the Brotherhood’s legitimacy in public discourse. Their gamble at abandoning the urban gravity centers of Cairo and Alexandria means they will remain an organized but fractured political actor. In order to achieve tactical objectives (such as elections), Islamist activists will be forced to become more beholden to the Brotherhood’s meddling Guidance Bureau, seek the services of the Brotherhood militias (like at the presidential palace early in December), appeal to Salafist allies, fan the flames of sectarianism, and play the identity politics card. Whereas tactical objective may be achievable, the trajectory employing the above inevitably destroys their strategic longevity as a credible political player. Morsi and the Brotherhood could have earlier on chosen to form broader coalitions to build up political capital to heal a polarized nation and reform the stubborn institutions, instead they chose a course of action that put them “past the point of no return.”

— Sons of Beaches: How Alexandria’s Ideological Battles Shape Egypt

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New Texts Out Now: Marwan M. Kraidy, “The Revolutionary Body Politic: Preliminary Thoughts on a Neglected Medium in the Arab Uprisings.” Middle East Journal of Culture and Communication 5.1 (2012). An excerpt: To my mind, interesting questions would focus on why there has been almost no mention of the male nude photograph, posted directly under the photo of al-Mahdy standing nude, her right leg open to emphasize her pubic area—so much so that one feminist blogger claimed to discern al-Mahdy’s clitoris (Abu Ghazal 2011)—wearing glossy red shoes and above-the-knee socks. Is it because the man is kneeling, exposing less of his body? Maybe, but maybe not, since his genitals, including the tip of the gland of his penis, are visible. Is it because she is the “author” of the blog, and therefore claims agency for posting both pictures? Possibly. Or is it perhaps because she is a woman and he is a man, and therefore they are subjected to vastly different standards of morality and judgment? Assuredly. Another fascinating question, or more appropriately, series of questions, would apply to the ways in which newspapers, blogs, and Facebook pages remediated the photograph, and I write the photograph because it is the frontal nude of al-Mahdy, not other pictures, presumably of hers, exhibiting her body in different poses, and most definitely not the photograph of her male partner, that were circulated. A semiotic analysis of these “re-mediations,” examining what media platforms covered which body part and what graphic device was used to cover it (a red oval? A yellow band? A blurring of the picture? White lines?), showcasing different ways of parceling out a woman’s body in the public sphere, resonating with the wave of moral indignation that rhetorically tore al-Mahdy to shreds. A third compelling line of questioning would pursue al-Mahdy’s call to Egyptian men to wear the hijab in solidarity with Egyptian women, therefore threatening socially constructed, religiously enforced gender boundaries and hierarchies (Tanzizi 2011). These questions are all related to the theme of the human body as a communicative agency—the body as medium. Read more, including an interview with Kraidy.

New Texts Out Now: Marwan M. Kraidy, “The Revolutionary Body Politic: Preliminary Thoughts on a Neglected Medium in the Arab Uprisings.” Middle East Journal of Culture and Communication 5.1 (2012).

An excerpt:

To my mind, interesting questions would focus on why there has been almost no mention of the male nude photograph, posted directly under the photo of al-Mahdy standing nude, her right leg open to emphasize her pubic area—so much so that one feminist blogger claimed to discern al-Mahdy’s clitoris (Abu Ghazal 2011)—wearing glossy red shoes and above-the-knee socks. Is it because the man is kneeling, exposing less of his body? Maybe, but maybe not, since his genitals, including the tip of the gland of his penis, are visible. Is it because she is the “author” of the blog, and therefore claims agency for posting both pictures? Possibly. Or is it perhaps because she is a woman and he is a man, and therefore they are subjected to vastly different standards of morality and judgment? Assuredly.

Another fascinating question, or more appropriately, series of questions, would apply to the ways in which newspapers, blogs, and Facebook pages remediated the photograph, and I write the photograph because it is the frontal nude of al-Mahdy, not other pictures, presumably of hers, exhibiting her body in different poses, and most definitely not the photograph of her male partner, that were circulated. A semiotic analysis of these “re-mediations,” examining what media platforms covered which body part and what graphic device was used to cover it (a red oval? A yellow band? A blurring of the picture? White lines?), showcasing different ways of parceling out a woman’s body in the public sphere, resonating with the wave of moral indignation that rhetorically tore al-Mahdy to shreds. A third compelling line of questioning would pursue al-Mahdy’s call to Egyptian men to wear the hijab in solidarity with Egyptian women, therefore threatening socially constructed, religiously enforced gender boundaries and hierarchies (Tanzizi 2011). These questions are all related to the theme of the human body as a communicative agency—the body as medium.

Read more, including an interview with Kraidy.

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Egypt’s Constitutional Referendum Results

Based on numbers reported by Egyptian media outlets, below is a summary of the constitutional referendum vote results broken down by governorate.

What do these numbers tell us?

  • In two stages of voting, average turnout across governorates was 30%, with Egyptians abroad participation being the most notable outlier with a 41% turnout rate.
  • The only three governorates where the majority of voters elected to reject the draft constitution are Cairo, Gharbiyya, and Menofia.

What do these numbers not tell us?

  • Given that the vast majority of eligible voters (68% or 33,855,564) did not participate in the referendum, we can neither conclude that the majority of the eligible voting population supports the constitution, nor can we conclude that a majority rejects it.
  • Only 16,232,035 or 32% of eligible voters have reportedly cast a vote. It is, therefore, misleading to claim that the silence of the other 68% is reflective of support for one position or another.

Click to read more.

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“

In many respects, this week’s violence and Morsi’s complicity in the escalations that led to it have reinforced the Guidance Bureau’s efforts to create a presidency that takes its cues from none other than the Brotherhood, and that cannot survive independently of the group’s support. The overt use of violence by Muslim Brotherhood supporters against other members of the political community in the name of Morsi’s leadership alienated any political force that could have provided the president with a support base outside of the Brotherhood. It is anything but surprising, therefore, that the president’s calls for dialogue thus far have failed to bring to the table any political figure with meaningful stature, credibility or substantial following other than the leader of his own party (and a lonesome Ayman Nour).

Having become more beholden to the Muslim Brotherhood than ever before, the idea that the pressures and necessities of politics could force the Morsi presidency to wage more inclusive coalitions that travel beyond his core group has become more far-fetched than it was before 5 December. Returning to the question posed earlier of whether someday Egypt could have a president that answers to the people and not to leaders of his secret society or the representatives of the deep state, this week’s events suggest that such a presidency is unlikely to emerge under Morsi’s leadership.

The aftermath of Wednesday’s violence has killed any chance that Morsi could credibly claim to speak for all Egyptians, or build bases of support that go beyond two groups to which he is now more bound than ever: the Muslim Brotherhood and the deep state. Morsi is now past the point of no return.

”

Hesham Sallam in Morsi Past the Point of No Return (via Jadaliyya)

Brilliant

(via globalwarmist)

(via globalwarmist)

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