January 25th marked the 5 year anniversary of the Egyptian uprising. Our media barely noticed. But what’s happened, what’s happening and what can we learn from these two countries’ parallels?
In Act Out! Eleanor Goldfield speaks speaks with an Egyptian activist who sets the record straight on the past and the present.
“El-Misr,” the Arabic word for Egypt, refers to the emergence of Arab military colonies following the expansion of Islam, later developing into such fixtures as “al-Fustat,” modernly, Cairo. The expanse of desert, pockmarked by oases and with unrivalled riverine breadth, continues to be known locally, and proudly, as the Mother of the World. The birthplace of civilization on the banks of the Nile still resounds throughout global history as a mystifyingly wondrous herald of language, architecture, and spirituality.
Though, as is typical to every modern nation-state, the post-independence geographical borders of Egypt and Sudan continue to bleed from the pages of history, into the soil of Nubia, and throughout the peoples of common heritage. In the Middle Ages, as Arab traders travelled between the Red Sea south of the Sahara to the Atlantic Ocean, they called the land now known as Sudan, “Bilad-as-Sudan,” literally, the “Country of Blacks.” The significance of naming cannot be understated in this context, where the Arab name for Egypt is Anglicized, while Sudan remains a figment of the Arab lexicon.
In Aswan, for example, from where a mere walk will traverse Egypt’s southern border, Nubian folk rites are practiced to this day within the ceremonial grounds of the bygone world of Pharaohs. In broad daylight, tourists, and townspeople bear witness to the bemusing traditions, where a Nubian woman, for example, draped in black from head to toe, will step over a heap of human skeletons in a burial cave heavily marked with ancient hieroglyphs.
I recently visited Istanbul, a Turkish city filled with Syrian refugees. Some old, some young but each with the same horror story of leaving behind dead friends and family in Syria. Their journeys to Istanbul are filled with difficulty and danger. Once arrived in Istanbul, most were not welcomed with open arms. Turkish people have a sense of pride towards their culture and history and many feel that the influx of refugees will change their identity. Many stores in Turkey refuse to speak to you in anything but Turkish for fear of their language being replaced with Arabic. Lots of Landlords refuse to lease apartments to Syrian refugees and most employers will discriminate against Syrians or not hire them at all.
One of the Syrian refugees I met was a young man in his mid-20s, married with two children of his own and supporting four other relatives. He worked 10-12 hour days, six days a week with no benefits for roughly $300 a month. This does not even provide the basic needs for his family, but they survive. His wage is less than a quarter of what his Turkish peers would make for the same job. When I spoke with him he told me he felt lucky and blessed to at least have some sort of income.
The children in the streets of Istanbul are plenty. All wander attempting to sell simple items such as napkins, pencils or candy. Some cannot afford to buy those items to sell so they just ask for anything from any passerby. They wear the expressions of children robber of childhood; their faces tell an excruciating story without uttering a word.
