After undergoing an hour of interrogation while fidgeting
nervously at the crossing to Sinai, and then being detained for more than two
hours in the Ismailiya police station, we were led up three flights of stairs
to a small office decorated in papyrus and family photos. There, a youthful,
slightly overweight police chief in a baby blue sweater said we were free to go
— straight back to
go to Al-Arish,” he said. “There are 700,000 Palestinians in the Sinai. You are
American and they are from Hamas. It is too dangerous.”
Dangerous, perhaps. We predicted news reports from
of cross-border rock hurling, as well as gunfire, between Palestinians and a
strained Egyptian police force. When
junior Kevin Staight,
gathered in front of the
in
earlier, we were worried the opportunity to witness political history in action
would be lost. We rushed to the Metro and headed for Ramses Station, the main
train depot, where we met up with
junior Mariela Goett.
It had been nearly a week since an explosion from the
Palestinian side ofthe strip had brought down a section of the wall at the
Rafah border crossing between
and
allowing Palestinians to flood across in search of much needed supplies,
cigarettes and business opportunities. As cars drove across the border,
Egyptian authorities — having earlier expressed a desire to approach
containment passively — were preparing to strengthen security. We wanted to go
before things in the area settled, or exploded into violence.
“When there is a big political situation in the
East
the reason I came to
At Ramses Station we were told the train was booked, but
managed to secure four third-class seats, though these are rarely sold to
foreigners because of their poor riding conditions. We boarded the train a few
minutes before it was scheduled to leave, taking our cramped spots next to an
open door among several anxious Egyptian men. Some, opting for a more
comfortable ride, climbed onto the baggage racks above the seats to lie down.
Thirty minutes later several passengers had disembarked, but
the train was still quietly standing in its loading position at the station. A
crowd, gathering outside and around the front of the train, 12 cars up,
eventually drew our attention. Jumping out onto the abandoned tracks alongside
us, we headed toward the chanting mob.
Anxious for action in Rafah, we were excited and surprised
to find such a commotion at home in
Horne and Staight, utilizing their burgeoning Arabic language skills to ask
about the protest, were quickly surrounded by a crowd of 20 or more Egyptians
eagerly venting their frustrations of the government’s failure to meet basic
needs. Others were simply intrigued by foreigners taking interest in the
demonstration.
The Egyptian Railway Authority, the other observers informed
us, had raised fines. Exactly which fines were unclear. An interview with
Railway Authority Supervisor Said Tahah in a quiet train car was equally
unclear, despite translation. An English speaker, on the other end of a cell
phone passed between Tahah and I, explained that fines were hiked because train
conductors were arriving at destinations late and passengers were boarding
without tickets, which conductors collect in transit.
Fines for first-class riders had been tripled and
third-class passengers would now pay a fine of 10 Egyptian Pounds, an increase
of 20 times the current amount. Conductors already face the possibility of
being attacked or even shot when collecting fines. The increase could put their
lives at further risk. Nevertheless, the question “What will the Train
Authority do in response to the protests?” garnered only a smile and a nod from
Tahah.
Recently, the Egyptian government has given in to many
demands of such economic protests, while simultaneously becoming increasingly
harsh when dealing with political opposition and political rallies. Peaceful
activists and politicians associated with the Muslim Brotherhood consistently
face the threat of imprisonment, and many have been, or remain, behind bars.
Likewise, political bloggers face jail time for even writing negative
statements about President Hosni Mubarak.
Train conductors, protesting economic issues, were not only
certain fines would be lowered, but, like several union and labor protests in
the past few years, they would succeed without being detained or attacked. Less
than three hours after the protest gathered, and less than an hour after I
spoke with Said Tahah, the Railway Authority reversed their decision, and
restored fines to their previous rates. We were not present for the
announcement.
Despite our enthusiasm at being a part of a local political
movement in the heart of Cairo, the four of us still had a determination to
visit Rafah and witness the international situation unfold before us.
Mohammed, a twenty-something Alexandrian patiently awaiting
his trip home, helped us find a minibus to
before the announcement. We spent the next four and a half hours on the road.
We had been told we could cross to Sinai in
but there we discovered the only bus route originated from Ismailiya.
We were shown to a taxi that drove us straight back down the
same highway to Ismailiya, where our minibus had stopped an hour and a half
earlier, and arranged another bus to Al-Arish after allaying the driver’s
concern that we might be Palestinian. With any luck, we could catch a cab from
there to Rafah.
The traffic at the border crossing was halted. Trucks, cars
and buses waited in an ever-growing queue while Egyptian military personnel
tore through luggage and cargo in an attempt to sever the flow of supplies to
Gaza. Our American passports, to the delight of all onboard, allowed us to cut
to the front of the line, bypassing the stalled traffic — we didn’t fuss about
special treatment.
But the mood changed quickly when an officer ripped
Staight’s camera from his hand after he flashed a picture of confiscated
cigarette cartons piled on the highway. Minutes later, Horne, Goett and I were
asked to step out of the bus. As the photos on our cameras were carefully
scanned, questions grew. “Where is this?” asked an officer in dark green with
bloodshot eyes. “This is not Cairo.”
“It’s a protest at the train station,” I responded
cautiously, knowing that my photos of officers at Ramses Station were quite
illegal, and that such photos had been known to inspire not only camera
smashing, but violence as well.
“These are not beautiful photos, these are not tourist
photos,” he said with a condescending air and military authority. I did not
respond.
The bus driver waited briefly before heading on to Al-Arish.
We waited considerably longer — a full hour — whispering among ourselves about
reacquiring our passports and cameras, as well as the possibility of resuming
our journey to Gaza, before being shuttled back to the center of Ismailiya. We
were shown into a quiet, brightly lit room with white chipped paint and Quranic
verses hanging askew on the walls. We were informed our phones would be joining
our cameras in police custody.
“Straight back to Cairo,” we muttered as we collected our
things from the reception at the police station before heading out into the
predawn cold of Ismailiya. Skeptical about the police chief’s assertion of
danger in Sinai we contemplated other means of reaching Rafah, certain if we
were to return to the same crossing we would land ourselves right back in
custody. We never made it to Gaza.
The next morning, in a second-class car on the train back to
Cairo, Goett bought the morning edition of Al Masry Al Youm, an Egyptian daily
paper. On the front page was a picture of the Ramses Station protest — a
reminder of our previous day’s adventure and our subsequent run-in with the
Egyptian military.
Back at Ramses Station, heightened security meant to keep
ticketless passengers, those who would have faced the consequences of new
fines, off the platform, was another footnote to the demonstration and a
reminder of Cairo’s struggle with issues of class.
Stepping out into the sun and toward the Ramses Station
Metro stop, we were greeted by the unavoidable shouts of taxi drivers.
“Welcome to Cairo.”
“You want to see the pyramids?”
These shouts, meant for tourists who would normally never
experience the frustrating policies and politics of
firsthand, were a vivid reminder of defeat. They were meant for those more
interested in a photo of a pyramid than in the political failure at the border
and the station. They ignored the
struggling with control, authority and transparency — an
tourists rarely get the chance, or even want, to experience.
