April 12 marks the 60th anniversary of the passing of Ahmad Zaki Abu Shadi. Most historians of Egypt mark the end of the so-called “liberal era” from the date of the 1952 coup. A more fitting date would be April 1946, when Abu Shadi immigrated to America *, one step ahead of the twins of Egyptian oppression, the secret policeman and the religious fanatic. A mere decade earlier, Abu Shadi was a luminary of Egypt’s cultural scene, a doctor by day and a poet, translator and cultural reformer by night. He bore the stigmata of the rare Egyptian liberal, advocacy for the right of women to control their lives and their bodies. The intervening years were bad for his kind. In 1933 a budding Egyptian thinker, Sayyd Qutb, published in Abu Shadi’s magazine “Apollo”. A decade later he would denounce similar men as “Brown Englishmen”. Qutb and Abu Shadi, once companions, were now sailing in opposite directions. Having left Egypt for America, Abu Shadi made a remarkable confession of faith, writing for a radio program “For the sake of freedom, I preferred to leave my country when tyranny was throwing independent thinkers into chains”. Qutb, returning to Egypt from America would speak of how independent thinking in the West led men to become “numb to faith in religion”.
Perhaps there were earlier Egyptian immigrants to America, but Abu Shadi’s public act of immigration, rare for its time, should earn him the distinction of “Immigrant Zero”. More immigrants would follow him, seeking either freedom or opportunity, or both. Many would not share his vision, but bring Egypt’s divisions and ills along for the ride. Even after decades of immigration, there is no large representative “hyphenated” group that espouses broad liberal values, especially with an eye for implementation in Egypt. It is not that the immigrants and their descendants lack men and women holding these views; it is that they are so far unable to create a viable block. The situation mirrors the travails of liberal political currents in Egypt. Even with the third generation of immigrants now coming into adulthood, there seems to be no movement toward building such groups. Many walk away in despair of the seeming insolubility of the Rubik Cube of Egypt and freedom.
It is unfair to expect a small group of immigrants to lift the fortunes of their Motherland. But it is not too much to ask them to preach the values they witness every day in lives frequently better than any they might have had in Egypt. This observation brings us back to the point made amply by Abu Shadi and his cohorts; that political oppression in Egypt is a by-product of social oppression, rather than its cause. The nation’s constrained and unreasoned attitudes towards religion and sex make it easy for many a demagogue, on any of the polarized sides, to mobilize followers and marginalize opponents. The situation has not gotten better with time either. The “chains” of Abu Shadi’s lament may now seem velvety by comparison.
— Maged Atiya
* Abu Shadi’s work can be found in two locations. “The Bee Kingdom“, collated by his granddaughter, artist Joy Garnett. Also, at the library of the University of Utah, placed there by historian Aziz Atiya, who followed him into immigration by a few years, and was his one-time neighbor in Alexandria.
Right around Luxor the Nile seems to change its mind about flowing north and makes a dash east toward the Red Sea. After 30 miles or so it gets its nerves back and continues its northward journey to its destination with the Mediterranean. The “knee” of the great river is home to many ancient Egyptian small temples. Few are as grand or iconic as Luxor or Aswan’s, but they give a sense of the deep religiosity that must have pervaded the land with multitude of temples. If you know where to look you will find evidence of crosses chiseled onto the faces of these temples. Early Egyptian Christians (and Christianity sprouted roots in Egypt very early and with little assistance from the original Jewish followers of Jesus) must have used these temples for worship. Strictly speaking the chiseling of Crosses is an act of vandalism, or more severely Iconoclasm of the ancient pagan temples. There is a certain irony, but no surprise, that the modern descendants of these Christians seem to include the ancient Egyptian key of life, the Ankh, frequently as part of cultural celebrations.
Iconoclasm is the act of destroying religious icons. The term derives from two periods of the Byzantine Empire that experienced a reversal of fortunes against the rising Arab (mostly Muslim) forces in the east and against the Slavs in the Balkans. The destruction of religious icons was done ritualistically to denote rejection of their worth, and perhaps even theological deviancy. Any attempt to relate iconoclasm to Christian theology is bound to fail. For example, Nestorians did not particularly venerate icons, nor did Egyptian Monophysites (as all Copts are), reject them. Equally problematic is the attempt to imply that the Byzantine Iconoclasts were influenced by Islamic thought or the opposite, that Islam’s iconoclasm is borrowed from Byzantine practices. Islam’s prohibition on images was never absolute, and was observed mostly in the Levant, Arabia and Egypt. Persia and India continued their rich tradition of colorful human imagery.
The colloquial interest in Iconoclasm is motivated by the horrific destruction of ancient heritage in the Levant by the loose bands of armed men on behalf of the so-called “Islamic State”. The frequent interpretation is that ISIS is being rigorously Islamic and the destruction follows Islam’s prohibition against images. Another more nuanced interpretation is that ISIS is acting from a more modern resistance to Western hegemony in taste, which dictates that respect and preservation of ancient artifacts is a sign of civilized behavior. Neither is truly satisfactory, and there is a more ready explanation.
First, it is counter-empirical to insist that Islam is hell-bent on destroying ancient heritage. It has had 1400 years of near dominance in a broad region. Yet, there have been few recorded instances of systematic destruction of ancient heritage. Some Muslim thinkers even took the initiative to attempt to understand and admire the mute witnesses to ancient empires, or read in them historical lessons. The attitude of the average faithful Muslim for many centuries was to either ignore or profit from the heritage.
The attempt to interpret the destruction using the now canonical discourse of “Orientalism” and “post-colonial” discourse is also unsatisfactory. The ideas of preservation and conservation are now intrinsic to many indigenous efforts at social reform, including those most hostile to the Western cultural influences. It is not uncommon for the cultural elite (of all religions) to hector their fellow believers into conservation by shaming them though highlighting of similar Western efforts. The removal of the Genizah records from Jewish Cairo 100 years ago was occasioned by bitter arguments within the community there.
The most intelligent and scholarly example of the above argument was advanced by Elliot Colla in a blog posting. We can respect Colla’s scholarship and still disagree with three of his arguments. First, that there is “nothing uniquely ‘Islamic’ about the ISIS attacks”. While not unique to Islam, it is rooted in many orthodox views of it. Anti-Semitism is not uniquely Christian, but Christianity sometimes helped and even fueled it. Second, that we need to take “autocratic and colonial legacies” into account when discussing such destruction. Again, the evidence is against such a view. The most systematic “Salafi” destruction has been in Saudi Arabia, ironically against Muslim heritage. Mecca and Medina are rebuilt to resemble Las Vegas. This is in a region that experienced little or no colonialism and where such destruction is supported by religious authorities that cow the political autocrats. Third, that we must compare the destruction of ancient statues with the toppling of Saddam’s massive statue prompted by American troops. Are we to say that the toppling of the statue of Mussolini can shed light on a potential destruction of Coliseum?
The explanation of ISIS behavior is not to be found in complex and intricate scholarly arguments. These are simply attempts to assert dominance within the faith using particular concepts that are genuinely within it but not intrinsic to its continuation. A fair comparison would be the rise of virulently anti-Semitic group within the Christian community which revives the old charge of deicide against the Jews to gain dominance over other Christians, especially those in the mainstream of modern liberal societies. It would be a tough sell in today’s world, primarily because of the strength and legitimacy of many of these societies, and because most of the major Christian denominations have long rejected, or at least avoided, the ugly charge. ISIS is attempting to tweak other Muslims into following it. By positing the challenge in stark and violent terms, which are bound to generate strong response, they are hoping that the Muslim community at large will be bitterly divided, with ISIS garnering the larger portion. The ISIS cycle of increasing violence and destruction is Salafism carried to its logical ends. The challenge is primarily not to the West, but to other Muslims.
— Maged Atiya
The White House conference on “Countering Violent Extremism” represented an expected response. In the face of gruesome killings the gathering asserted the American values of openness, tolerance and faith in the healing power of bureaucratic acronyms. There is much to admire there. It came amid an intellectual debate on whether ISIS represents or subverts Islamic values. Much of the debate seemed like neo-Scholasticism. First we need to define “Islam”, which is as difficult as defining any religion that has more than a handful of faithful and has lasted more than a few years. A report in the New York Times is typical of the current debate. It presents the tale of a young man from Middle Class Heliopolis in Cairo who has recently joined ISIS. He was motivated by many difficulties and frustrations, including the inability to get a decent job as a physical trainer in a good gym. It has the air of the standard morality tale, which is to say that it contains more than a hefty dose of instruction. This kind of “there but for the grace of God go I” story is a bit like Chocolate Cake, enticing to sample and impossible to digest. We can find equal or better instruction in another tale from the Heliopolis of decades ago.
In the month before the 1967 war Egypt was whipping itself into war frenzy. A physical trainer at the Heliopolis Sporting Club decided to join in by turning his platoon of unruly boys into a “Kata’b Salah-Ed-Din”, or the Divisions of Saladin. He told the boys they will forgo the usual pushups and weight lifting in favor of battle training, with swords. He asked that they come dressed in historically appropriate uniforms as well. They had for guidance a hoary Egyptian epic of recent vintage (by the great director Youssef Shaheen), the story of how Saladin captured Jerusalem from the Crusaders. The boys suddenly came face to face with the difficult art of historical costume design. At the next meeting most came in a random array of ill-fitting Galabyyias. One boy showed up in his older sister’s sun dress. The coach equipped them with sticks for swords, and when he ran out, threw in a couple of golf clubs. At the end of training he gave a short pep talk and asked for questions. The most difficult of boys inquired “Ustaz, where do we find the Yahood”. The coach gave no answer (years later the boy was to find his first Jews on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, where they proved unexpectedly likable and more disputatious than violent). In any case, the irritated parents quickly ended the farce. They had paid to have their boys’ energies drained, and possibly ward off bullying. Weeks later the boys would learn that success in modern warfare demanded more than courage and a uniform, it required advanced technical training, organization and close connection to higher cultural values. It is a lesson that most of the surviving members have not forgotten.
The same cannot be said about the various inheritors of that mantle. In the decades hence, excepting possibly Egypt’s credible performance in 1973, many regional military efforts have been deadly farcical. We can tick off all the various battles that should have instructed the participants in the above lessons, but never did. In fact, the most potent of efforts still seemed to lean toward that poor coach’s perception of how to succeed in modern warfare. They are cargo-cult historical re-enactments. Whether it is a Pediatrician from Ma’adi who dresses up as a Pashtun tribesman, or a Saddam army general who imagines himself a reincarnation of a seventh century warrior, the aspiration has been to retrieve greatness by imitation of form, rather than the progress of culture. Like any bankrupt ideology, every failure causes a doubling down on the original premise. The result is ISIS. When that fails, we should expect a worse incarnation, unless the entire ideology is ditched.
This brings us to the question of whether the ideology will be ditched. It is the relevant and difficult question, and history gives no easy answers. It is possible that the current Salafism rampant in the region will render it a vast recreation of the Aborigines in Van Diemen’s land, who, under the influence of religious thought, willed themselves into extinction by ratcheted atavism. If so, it will be an expensively deadly denouement. Alternatively, the region could dust itself out of this religion-besotted state and decide to chart a different path. If it were to do so, it will not be by consensus or pluralistic decision making. It will be at the behest of tough leadership with a clear vision, and little patience for drivel. If that leadership exists, it is currently in some disguise.
— Maged Atiya
The policy makers of the Bush administration, secure in the wisdom lodged behind rimless glasses, argued that unless Saddam is brought to heel Al Qaeda will seek his protection. We now know the opposite to be true; the henchmen of Saddam have sought the protection of Al Qaeda and have become a significant part of the leadership of its bloody successor, The Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant (ISIS). While the US worked to endow Iraq with the laudable gifts of representative democracy and free markets, its opponents diligently pursued the task of starting a religious war. Al Qaeda, is at root wedded to a variant of Salafi Jihadi ideology, and therefore an implacable enemy of Shi’a Islam. In the empowerment of the Shi’a, it found a casus belli in Iraq. The US adventure there was meant to provide a shining example of how good governance can lift the fortunes of Arabs and Muslims and “drain the swamp of terrorism”. But Iraq was too far gone, a victim of its history of brutal coups and social fissures but mostly a casualty of the Iranian revolution. The revolutionary regime in Iran sought to export an eschatological revolution, thus firing the first shot in a broad religious war. Iraq was the first, and not the last, victim.
Even if one accepts the logic of creating an example of good governance in the region, one must question the choice of Iraq as the test bed. A far more hospitable place would have been Libya. Its dictator was as brutal as Saddam, but with less cunning and more insanity. It is further removed from Iran, and its religious makeup would have avoided the thorny issue of Shi’a empowerment, Sunni resentment, and the dodgy fact of having many of its potential leaders in bed with the likes of Hizboallah. If the spread of nuclear weapons was a factor, then certainly Libya was a more provable case. Instead, Saddam was attacked and Qaddafi offered a sweetheart deal.
But now, a dozen years after the invasion of Iraq, and with the Levant in a crucible of horrors, there is a chance for a makeover. Rarely does history offer great powers a chance not to make the same mistake twice. Libya is in chaos. Its chaos is empowering the worst elements to flood in. The number of its insurgents is small, and their nature is rag tag. This may seem to be a reason for inattention, but actually it is not. Actors such as ISIS are likely to see in Libya a low lying fruit. It has a long coastline close to Europe, it has oil, and it is close enough to Egypt, with many smuggling routes across a 1000 mile border, offering a tantalizing base of operation to destabilize the largest and most influential Arab country. The revolution against Qaddafi was likely supported from Qatar and Turkey, but NATO acted as tactical air power for actors it little understood. The resulting chaos offers a reprimand and a chance to redeem the original mistake.
If the original intervention was based on the legal theory of the “Right to Protect”, then that same theory demands further intervention. At risk then were the lives of rebels and the civilians under their control. At risk today are the lives of millions of Libyans, and potentially others in the surrounding countries. ISIS is a death cult, and it is hell-bent on extermination of Christians. The largest pool of native Christianity is next door in Egypt. The brutal execution, if proven, of 21 Copts in Libya and the accompanying document leaves no doubt as to the intentions of ISIS. Numbers make a chilling case. There are as many Copts in Egypt as there were Jews in Europe in 1933.
What is advocated here is an extension of the earlier intervention, via a small expeditionary force, mostly of European and other countries, to restore a functioning government to Libya, disarm all militias and eradicate any foreign fighters from the ISIS group. There are many reasons to think this will succeed. The ethnic and religious make up of Libya is such that a fair distribution of oil revenue (Libya has the same population and oil production as Norway) will keep them all happy and agreeable. A decent and mild man, King Idris, managed as much before. The proximity of Egypt and Algeria will mean that potential recruits to the insurgency will need to arrive by sea. Naval interdiction is something that the US excels at. Keeping the southern rim of the Mediterranean free of chaos used to be an American strategic objective. It ought to be again.
The benefits reach beyond what is purely good for Libya. Defeat of the Jihadis there will protect Egypt’s back ,allowing it to focus on defeating the Sinai branch of ISIS. Tunisia will no doubt rest better knowing that its Eastern neighbor is not in chaos, especially as it has become a major provider of fighters to Syria and potentially ISIS. A win in Libya might even encourage nations such as Mali and Nigeria to clamp down on their religious warriors.
But the major win in Libya is to hand ISIS a major defeat. The West has suffered its own brutal religious wars, and has come through them with an understanding that the only way out is to empower nation-states as agents of governance based on citizenship rights. The Christian West, which increasingly has a major Muslim minority, must reassert that principle in the Middle East. Syria may seem intractable, but Libya is not; and a solution there may radically alter the course of events elsewhere in the region.
— Maged Atiya
The early Ninth Century CE was a terrible time for Egyptians, a concluding time of a sequence of revolts. The Arab armies arrived in the middle of the Seventh Century, and Egypt became a province of the rising empire governed from the Levant. A hundred years later the center of the Islamic empire moved east, and the occupation was closer to the Persian invasion of more than a century earlier, rapacious and intolerant. Faith, and to a lesser extent money, moved the mostly Christian population of Egypt to revolt. In a series of encounters known as the “Bashmuric Revolts”, the overlords from Baghdad sent in central Asian mercenaries to put down the revolts with predicable violence; killing, enslavement and mass burning of Churches and Monasteries followed. By the middle of the Ninth Century the native Copts had given up all armed resistance. Never again would Copts resort to force to defend themselves, no matter how great the oppression. The scale of the physical damage would only be rivaled by the riots of the 14th Century, and 2013, in the wake of the removal of the Muslim Brotherhood President, Morsi.
Some of these events paint a fascinating miniature of the complex relationships between faiths and their histories in Egypt. One burnt Church, St Michael in old Fustat, was either bought or appropriated by a group of local Jews around 880 CE. It became the Ezra Synagogue, a center of Jewish life in Egypt for more than a thousand years thereafter. Rarely have Churches been forcibly changed to Synagogues; Ezra is an unusual specimen. The Synagogue contained a “Genizah”, or a store room for discarded documents carrying the name of God, and hence not candidates for destruction. The accumulated treasure paints a picture of Jewish life in Egypt and the region throughout the Crusades and Middle Ages. The Jews of Egypt were globalists. The community was in the hub of trade from Andalusia in the West to India in the East. Equally telling is the absence of Copts in these documents, for although Egypt remained mostly Christians for centuries afterward, the Christians of Egypt closed in on themselves, hemmed in by Muslim rulers and a West that regarded them as heretics. The Genizah records were “discovered” in the 1890s, and the events around that are telling of the varying fortunes of Jews and Copts for the next century.
In the beginning of the 19th Century Egypt began to attract new Jews and Christians. In the case of Jews, it was Ottoman and European Jews who came to work with Egypt’s modernization efforts. They arrived with substantial social capital, far above their impoverished Egyptian relatives. The removal of the Genizah records to Europe was the occasion for protests by Egyptian Jews, who resented the newcomers’ high handed ways. In time, however, Egyptian Jews became absorbed into the new elite, by both marriage and business. When the Jewish exodus from Egypt began in 1948, there was little difference between those whose roots ran back decades or centuries. All left together.
The fortunes of the Copts took a radically different road. The arrival of the British Church Missionary Society (CMS) had a largely positive impact on the Copts. But fifty years later, in the 1850s, came a new breed of missionaries, American Evangelicals. They viewed the Orthodox Copts as derelict Christians and sought to convert all of them to Protestantism. The Orthodox Church faced a threat as great as the Asian armies of centuries ago. It was entirely possible to imagine the Orthodox creed becoming an antique and vanishing vestige, as Copts saw the superior benefits of Protestant education and advancement. In fact, that did not happen. The Protestant threat became an occasion for reform, the vast majority of Egyptian Christians remained in the Orthodox creed, and the Church tied its fortunes closely to the rising Egyptian nationalism. It is not an exaggeration to state that Copts sacralize the land of Egypt as much as the Jews do the Holy Land. The Evangelical Christians became a part of native Egyptian Christianity rather than the other way around.
The establishment of Israel was the proximate cause for the departure of the Jews from Egypt, but the ultimate causes were both nativism and political Islam. The majority of Copts engaged in one and rejected the other, without noting the contradiction involved. It was left to another migration, that of Copts to North America and Australia, to highlight those contradictions. In an odd twist of fate, a term normally associated with Jews, “Diaspora”, is now contested among Copts. Some accept it, others reject it. Both positions freighted with historical and social consequences.
When it comes to faith, land and history, peoples invariably find themselves as threads in a wider weave. Hegemony and exceptionalism do little but rend the fabric.
— Maged Atiya
Throughout the 1960s the Egyptian government sponsored a special celebration every July 23 in honor of the children born on that day. In Cairo, the celebration was at the old Rivoli Cinema. The routine was set and unchanging from year to year. It started with the 1 year olds, brought to the stage by their beaming mothers, then 2 year olds, and so on in increasing order of age. The grand finale was the march of those born exactly on July 23 1952, who dashed up to the stage to receive their certificates. By the time of the last such celebration in 1967, those “sons of the revolution” were surly 15 year old adolescents and no longer charming young boys. The affair was sad and ramshackle, like the city outside steeped in defeat. The cinema had a half-built brick blast wall that seemed to do little but obscure the once grand entrance. Revolutions, like boys, grow older, and without effort or accretion of knowledge, promise inevitably turns to disappointment.
On the fourth anniversary of the January 2011 uprising many have mourned the fact that the young revolutionaries were largely sidelined, with some even in jail. They advanced the dreams of an alternative path where the young would now be ruling, the country free, the old regime entirely upended, and the vigor of youth leading Egypt forward. None have noted that Egypt had experienced one such outcome, in 1952, where young men came to power, upended the old regime, and attempted to govern by the dent of a spirit of revolution and without any discernible program. The young men who came to power brandished promises of Ishtirakiya, Hurreyia, Demokratia (Socialism, Freedom, and Democracy). In fact they brought forth a repressive regime where mouthing these slogans in the wrong order earned one a beating. The repression and paranoia of the Free Officers regime was rooted in a variety of societal factors, but also in the lack of a governing vision. The 1952 revolution had no defining document such as the 1776 American declaration which put forth a concise definition of appropriate governance and a legal case for revolt. The best 1952 could do was the flowery words of Anwar El Sadat, who sonorously intoned a mixture of platitudes and intimations of conspiracies. There was more than a faint echo in 2011.
The 1952 revolutionaries detested politics. They strove to destroy the old political elite, on the correct charges that they were inept and sometime corrupt. But in the absence of politicians what rose was leadership by charisma and unchecked power; by men who insisted they are too pure for politics, and that their purity justified coercing others to their views. Anyone who challenged their methods or actions belonged to the discredited “feudal” classes. Nasser may have lifted land reform policies from Mirrit Ghali, but he could not tolerate the man in his cabinet. This propensity to demonize politics and refusal to honor differing views is also apparent in the 2011 edition of revolution. The grating word “felool” was hurled easily, and after July 3 the preferred term was “coup supporter” or “Fascist”.
Egypt of course experienced many “revolutions” in the past two centuries. All have failed to bridge the economic and social gap between the country and the global world, and even within Egypt, the gap between rich and poor continues to grow. The death of revolutions comes in many forms. The ‘Urabi revolution died in the quick defeat of his forces at the hands of a British expedition, in his humiliating barefoot surrender, and his ultimate disillusion with his actions. The 1919 revolution died at the hands of anti-liberal forces, as well as the paradox of the slogan “Egypt for Egyptians” mouthed by an elite that had little trust in the people (perhaps with good reasons). The 1952 revolution was in deep trouble by the mid-1960s, but got a quick shove from the 1967 defeat. The 2011 revolution died many deaths; by the anarchic violence in the fall of 2011, by the farcical Parliament brought forth by free elections, by the chaotic and rule-free Presidential elections of 2012, the lack of a constitution, and by the loss of nerve on part of the people who could not detect in Morsi’s rule the end-game of Islamism’s profound lack of a workable governing philosophy.
Cromer hurled the withering, and incorrect, charge against Egyptians as incapable of organized planning. Mirrit Ghali refined that by focusing it on the ruling elite. Actually, the appropriate analogy comes from the American film “Cool Hand Luke”, where the protagonist, Paul Newman, resists an oppressive order with nothing more than his courage. He builds no rapport with other prisoners, even when they profess admiration for him, and does not negotiate for any tangible improvement in the prison camp. The alpha prisoner, George Kennedy, admires Luke, insisting that “nothing can be a cool hand”. In the end, however, nothing can’t beat the established oppressive order. Luke is broken by the repeated brutality of the guards and pleads for mercy on the promise of never attempting to revolt. The other prisoners walk away from him. Luke, it seems, wasted his courage and the trust of others by his utter lack of discipline. He came at them with nothing.
Nasser always insisted that 1952 revolution continues, especially during difficult days. The wily Egyptians largely chalked that up to brave talk, and walked away. Something like this is happening today. Whether wisdom or additional suffering will emerge from this chaos remains unknown.
— Maged Atiya
The visit of President Abdul Al Fattah Al Sisi to the St Mark Cathedral during the celebration of the liturgy of Coptic Christmas Eve evoked the expected commentary. Much of it reflected the views of the commentators, and their take on the current regime, than the reality of where Egypt, and the region, are today on interfaith relationship.
The visit was also symptomatic of today’s Egypt, improvised, somewhat clumsy but possibly sincerely felt. There was a certain cringe factor in seeing a President, and a former General, assuming the Microphone during a liturgy at the altar of the See of St Mark the Apostle. On the other hand, as historian Samuel Tadros noted, Copts must have felt like citizens even for one day. In any case, Pope Tawadros II, has given fulsome support to the current regime, reflecting both his personal views, and likely the views of the majority of Church officials and laity. The Pope, who assumed the throne of St Mark just two years ago, has proven to be a capable, even slightly visionary, administrator of ecclesiastical affairs, and a problematic commentator on current politics. His remarks reflect the mainstream views of many of Egypt’s elite of his age and status, although it must be said that this mainstream sometimes runs paradoxically uphill against the gravity of both facts and logic. As one Egyptian-American noted, we should have enough respect for Copts to criticize what is perceived as poor choices.
Pulling back from the personalities and turmoil of current Egyptian politics, one must ask what the comments would have been had Sisi not visited the Cathedral, or whether after 40 years of the Islamization of the public sphere, any more could have been expected. Since 1911 the Copts have ratcheted demands for full citizenship rights downward, as they progressively gotten less with each cycle. Today, they are happy just to be visited during the occasion of the birth of their Savior, and not listen to Fatwas declaring that good wishes to Christians contradict the letter and the spirit of Islam. The Copts, who now make 75% of the region’s Christians, have taken a different road from the majority of Eastern Christians, and the horrors inflicted on them have been significantly less. While this empirical fact should not be a reason to demand less than full rights for Egyptian Christians, it should color comments on what one American historian privately called “the daunting and exhausting issue of Copts in Egypt”.
The visit comes days after Sisi insisted to an audience of Azharis, on the occasion of the birth of the Prophet Muhammad, that 1.5 Billion Muslims should not set themselves against the other 80% of the human race, and that a “revolution in religion” is necessary. While some will insist that these are words without patent action, few will recall that Sadat’s words in the opposite direction 40 years ago, also without patent action, inflamed the public sphere. Words do matter in the short term, while realistic improvements are invariably long-term.
There are plenty of disappointments about the course of events in today’s Egypt. Some are disappointed that it has not emerged as full-fledged Islamist “democracy”. Others are disappointed that is has not followed the “Tunisian model”, ignoring the differences between the two societies. Yet, for all the sadness of the violence accompanying the 2011 revolution and its aftermath, and for all concerns about the current bout of nasty Hyper-nationalism, the bloodletting has been much less than the surrounding region, and those in power remain nominally committed to the idea of a shored-up state based on citizenship and away from sectarian violence that characterizes the relationship between faiths, and within Islam in the Levant. It is fair to wonder why the demand for less sectarianism should be coupled to tolerance for autocracy. But once the question is posed, we should not shrink from the disappointing answer.
It is not bigotry of low expectations to find some light in a faint gesture, even if the reality remains difficult. The best one can say about Egypt today is that the climb, steep as it is, follows a different path from the surrounding region. Egypt, and its Christians who remain an essential and faithful facsimile of it, may yet plod through.
— Maged Atiya