Saturday, November 27, 2010

The best show in town

It's election day here in Egypt, citizens will vote to determine a new Parliament. Already you see I've gotten ahead of myself. It's a bit of a stretch I've learned to say "citizens will vote" and "new." I was speaking with some of my Egyptian friends the other day, and they informed me that unless you work in the government and are bussed to the polling stations (where you are instructed to vote for the ruling party) most Egyptians don't vote. As my friend asked, "what's the use?" Egyptian citizens are aware of the widespread fraud and corruption, so much so that they don't see their vote as making a difference. Another friend described incidents of election officials opening polls in the morning and finding that some of the ballot boxes were already full, even before voting began. These episodes of fraud led to the invention of clear ballot boxes, but such effort was in vain. Once these clear boxes were transported in cars and vans, the ballots would be switched out en route to headquarters.
These are only examples of course of election day incidents. The real disenfranchisement begins much earlier, when opposition candidates try to enter the race. As one article written by media expert and Georgetown University lecturer Adel Iskandar explains, "Not only are most alternatives to the ruling National Democratic Party (NDP) too embattled to compete on a level playing field, the field itself is rife with obstacles for any party hoping to contest the NDP’s hegemony." All of this contributes to the public's wariness of elections. Like an unfortunate Oreo, it appears democratic on the outside, lawless on the inside - leading of course to a crisis of legitimacy, "In Egypt, efforts to persuade the public into believing their elections on 28 November will be competitive and representative have fallen completely flat." Perhaps the most frustrating aspect in all this though, is how much it's people need the Egyptian government to step up to the plate for them.
Poverty and hunger are widespread. Egypt just celebrated a rather meager Eid, in which many families could not afford the traditional feast. In fact, "some candidates have been wooing supporters by offering them meat." Water and electricity (as evidenced by weekly blackouts) are also urgent problems. Additionally, the gap between rich and poor grows ever wider. Economic progress has for now only benefited the "cadre of wealthy elite" while the masses are left wanting. Without any hope for systematic improvements to the quality of life, and a gross lack of legitimacy, the elections become simply a show, and a rerun at that. The elections are now "a tired and redundant replay of a less than captivating classic film, where the “protagonist” always prevails unanimously." Though many argue that financial and economic indicators highlight a positive trend, the masses have only seen their cost of living rise. If real progress in Egypt is to be made, "it is time we see past the glossy trailer and watch the grainy gritty full feature. "

[Al Masry Al Youm, 11/28]

The bird itself

Friday, November 26, 2010

Ex-patriotic Thanksgiving

My friend and I were discussing the peculiarities in what products are available here in Cairo, and what products are not. Surprisingly, sometimes you can find the exact name brand product you're accustomed to. (The other day I happened upon PopSecret Homestyle microwave popcorn. For those of you familiar with my enthusiasm for this product, you can imagine my dismay as I was forced to leave it on the shelf due to lack of microwave.) Yet, despite a few shockingly familiar items, there are conversely products you would assume to find but simply cannot. Here's looking at you celery. As Dale and I began our preparations for our Thanksgiving party, we were interested to see in to which category turkey would fall.
Turns out procuring a turkey was easier than expected. All it took was a large grocery store, the manager, some miming, and some time spent digging around in the back. Eventually however, two frozen turkeys were produced. (This is very much a chicken, beef and lamb country. Turkey can be a rare find.) After bringing the turkeys home we wrapped them in garbage bags and left them on our kitchen floor to thaw. Beaming with delight for securing the main ingredient for the weekend's festivities, our smiles soon faded when we addressed the issue of actually cooking these oh-so-large birds.
For days we did research on where to have the turkeys cooked. (Our oven was not a possibility as it resembles something Barbie might use.) We called some hotels, and they were willing to cook them but for a fairly steep price. Some friends offered their ovens but then realized transporting hot turkeys across town was not worth it. Finally, one day our Egyptian colleague gave us the name of "the chef." He said you can just take the birds there and he will cook them for you no problem. So we called and "the chef" told us to come by, no problem.
The day came when we were to drop off the turkeys to this mysterious culinary professional. Armed with some vague details and a hand drawn map of the supposed intersection we needed, we set off in a taxi carrying the turkeys, still in their trash bags, in our arms. (This would be a good time to tell you the turkeys weighed 10 kilos each.) So off we went until our cab driver finally stopped and informed us we were here.
We exited the taxi and found the landmark our colleague had described to us. Only there was one problem, there was no personal chef looking business anywhere to be found. So there we were, on the street carrying around turkeys in trash bags looking desperately for any clues of this magical chef. We wandered about for a bit and asked a few people for street names. A man gave us a few more directions and we followed those, then I asked another woman for more information and she directed me to continue down the street. We were coming to the end of the road when finally I saw the sign for the chef. "The chef!" I cried, "we're here!"
All of the sudden a man in a business suit comes running out and grabs both turkeys from us. "The chef?" he asks, "yes" I said, and the man goes trotting off up the stairs. Curious, we follow him in to a meeting room, one you might expect to see the mob use. The man instructs us to sit down and immediately begins writing us a receipt. "Rice?" Surprised by the question I just said "sure, rice." He is pleased with this response and continues writing furiously. "How many people?" I ask him why that would matter, he still would have to cook both turkeys. He says, "because of the rice!" Ok, 20 people. We left with the assurance that both our turkey and our rice would be finished and delivered by 10 am the next morning. As we walked down the street empty handed, a strange feeling of victory (albeit peppered with some doubt) overcame us.
The next day, for the first time in Egyptian history, our food arrived on time. The delivery man came in with two beautiful platters of turkey over a bed of Persian rice (yellow rice with raisins and nuts.) We were thrilled.
What ensued was a lovely afternoon-turned evening Thanksgiving celebration. There were mainly Americans in attendance but also Egyptians who had never celebrated the holiday before. We were pleased to introduce them to what I count as my favorite holiday. The historical injustice acknowledged, I do believe that today Thanksgiving offers the country a nice moment to pause and be with friends and family and remember that despite myriad challenges, we are in many ways very blessed.

Saturday, November 20, 2010

Freedom of expression


These are a couple pictures taken from inside the Palestinian refugee camp. The first is a wall of murals outside one of the schools. The second is a picture of the wall outside the youth center.

Our second home

I was afforded a rare and special opportunity during my time in Lebanon. A Lebanese friend who works for a youth media organization was going to interview a Palestinian refugee about the cable tv channel he and his friends created. She invited me to go with her to the refugee camp. I have spent many years studying the Arab-Israeli conflict from various angles, but never before was I given the opportunity to see for myself concrete results of the conflict. We headed just north of Tripoli to the camp. This particular camp is about 60 years old and has about 30,000 residents in about one and a half or two square kilometers. Originally, the camp was allotted one square kilometer and building was deemed illegal. Over time however, the camp was built up (illegally) and the population doubled after another camp was destroyed. The interview was conducted in the camp's youth center. They had even converted the bathroom in to a recording studio. After wards, our new friend invited us to his family's house where he insisted we stay for lunch. It was quite an interesting experience listening to him and another of his friends (a girl who was around my age) describe their struggle. They referred to Israel in quotation marks every time they used the word. What was interesting was that they never referred to their enemy as the the Jews. Rather, their opposition was to an occupying force. They spoke of the days that Jews and Palestinians lived in peace on that land, long before the occupation. Though several generations have now lived their whole lives in the camp, the residents maintain a very strong Palestinian identity. They referred to Lebanon as their second home. Palestine, even if they had never seen it before, was their first home. Everyone we spoke with was passionate about returning to the land they loved. Our friend told us that for Palestinians, their relationship to the land was special. They lived on the hope of returning. Because of this, they dismissed any peace negotiations, refusing to be granted small pieces of a land they see as theirs. "Israel" was described as a tool created by the West to achieve influence in this part of the world. But, as all occupying forces do, our friend was convinced that the occupiers would eventually leave. I did not express my own points of view, I was there in their home just to listen, and to absorb a point of view I knew existed but had never seen. I should note that our hosts were very hospitable and that lunch was excellent.
From there, we toured the camp a bit. We saw all the little boys playing with very realistic toy guns. Our Palestinian friend explained that growing up with stories of violence, this is all they know. She then invited us to her family's house for coffee. There, her father explained some of the intricacies of Palestinian government. One thing I had learned earlier that day was that the governments of the West Bank and Gaza can do nothing for Palestinian refugees. In fact, many of the laws surrounding refugees were surprising. I could tell the residents struggled with how they felt about Lebanon. It is their de facto home and a place that they love. At the same time though, they are treated like second class citizens, unable to hold most jobs, and held to the utmost scrutiny when traveling. The refugees hold no passports, instead they have "documentation" or an ID card. They are of course not allowed to leave the country, and there is a check point right outside the camp in case they need to go in to the city.
Though we might have different points of view, I was very grateful for the kindness showed to me in the camp. I was happy to have the opportunity to hear first hand about their struggle and impressed with their ability to maintain their identity. The experience was both humbling and enlightening in terms of furthering my understanding of this deep-rooted and what I see now as a very real conflict.

Lebanon

Just returned from a week in Lebanon. Honestly I will have a hard time verbalizing the experience. A lot of what I found there was both surprising and somehow eerily familiar. The country is beautiful, and yes the rumors are completely true- the people are equally gorgeous. The food is phenomenal, really impressively good. (Had the best hummos I've ever had in Baalbek and the best backlava courtesy of Tripoli.) It occurred to me a couple days in to the trip that Lebanon is what I pictured the "Middle East" to be like before I really knew what it was. Starring at the late-afternoon moon above the citadel in Tripoli, I was reminded of this very early childhood impression. Perhaps it's hard to sum up my impressions because of the many juxtapositions or in some cases contradictions swirling around in one small country. Beirut, as it's reputation describes, is very cosmopolitan. The city was full of girls wearing short skirts and spaghetti strap tank tops. Coming from Egypt this was surprising. As I navigated my way through the perfectly groomed, cosmopolitan youth, it was hard to get a sense that this city was the site of much and recent conflict. The bullet holes still visible in many buildings however provided adequate proof. Furthermore, thanks to the myriad construction projects downtown, all prophetizing grand apartments, and the designer shops lining the downtown corridors, there is an intentional feeling of luxury in Beirut. This bubble however, was popped when speaking to some Lebanese friends about job opportunities there. They assured me that the wages in the country are not what you would expect them to be. The new luxury apartments are only being built because international investment groups could afford them, not because of any measured demand. So it was nice to get outside the city as well and see more of the country. One day we ventured to Baalbek (where the above photo was taken) to see the famous ruins, and another couple of days were spent in Tripoli. The most rewarding experience I had though will have to be saved for another blog post.

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Nu-Clear and Present Danger

Well as a way to take a break from teaching, I volunteer once a week at an NGO where I .... teach. This experience differs from my day job though as the class is focused on conversational English and is geared towards university students. The idea behind the NGO is to offer lesser privileged university students with the skills needed to find better jobs. These skills include English, French, or German, as well as computer and communication skills.
The other night, despite the NGO guidelines, our conversation in class turned towards the political. Having recently been through somewhat of a crash course on all things nuclear this past spring, I was eager to take Egypt's nuclear temperature. My fellow teacher and I posed the question, should Egypt have a nuclear weapon? The response was a resounding yes. The main arguments were two-fold. First, they argued that Egypt needs to defend itself against its enemy: Israel, and second, that every country has the right to build a nuclear weapon (no matter what the United States might say) and that right should be exercised.
What I found surprising was the student's multiple references to the "couple" countries who have nuclear weapons. In reality many more countries maintain nuclear arsenals. Conversely, the students included Iran as a country that has nuclear weapons. Perhaps the most awkward pause though came when we asked them: why do you consider Israel your enemy? Aren't both countries at peace? This question was met with resounding silence.
The discussion could have easily continued through the night but unfortunately we had to cut it short. Not only did we have grammar exercises to do, but the discussion was turning down a dangerous side street as indicated by the question, "why does the United States think it can tell other countries what to do?" I told them that was another topic for another day.
Overall I was excited to get some insight into how young Egyptians view their country and the world's nuclear ambitions, and I look forward to continuing nonproliferation studies. It may be one of the only fields that allows for a unique combination of hard power, strategic know-how, and the rare but somehow familiar trait of idealism.