Imagine it is night. In the darkness outside a mob is congregating around your house. They scream, they hurl death threats, they say they will burn down the house and kill you. You and your mother are scared to death. Your mother calls the police by phone. They must come and protect you or something terrible will happen. Then the police come. They intrude into your apartment, but instead of calming the crowds and stopping their illegal doings – the police arrest you, drag you out of the house and through the cheering crowds that continue in their death threats while shouting Allahu akbar. Your mother is left behind without someone protecting her. And you cannot do anything, because the police have handcuffed you and drive you away. It is almost midnight and the horror has gone on for hours. You are scared stiff and don't know where the police is taking you and what will happen to your mother.
Imagine arriving at the police station at the middle of the night with no lawyer to help you, no one to turn to. Imagine the police officers, who came not to save you but to arrest you, hurl insults at you, push you, beat you, then throw you into a dark cell where there are other inmates already. Imagine one police officer shouting to the inmates that you have insulted the Prophet, that you have been blasphemous, that you don't believe in God – shouting it so loud that everyone is getting agitated and angry. Imagine the frustrated inmates, furious at the police for treating them like dirt, now turning their fury on you, because they need an outlet for their anger, need a scapegoat they can blame everything on. And imagine how they fall on you, shouting, pushing – and how then one inmate grabs you from behind, pulls back your head and slashes your neck with a razor blade until you bleed. While the mob around you want to kill you and the police officer grins his dirty grin.
Your adrenaline will pump in your head, you are so scared to die there and then in this shitty police hole of a cell, with the blood already running down your neck and into your shirt, you sweat yourself wet and your heart pounds so hard that it hurts and you know you are going to die any minute at the hands of this incited mob – and then the police officer finally shouts for them to stop and they let go of you and the police officers move away and you have to spend the rest of the night in a corner of the cell not knowing if they will come at you again, if they will take that razor blade again and slash you to death. And you feel the blood running down your body and into your trousers and you don't know if the mob on the street has killed your mother or not. It is so dark in that cell, so unbelievably dark. And you lose all grip on yourself because you don't know if you'll survive the night.
Imagine all that. And then wonder what you have done that could have caused this. Not in the Middle Ages. Not in the middle of nowhere. But in Cairo. In 2012. Under the regime – or is it a government – of Mohammed Morsi and the Muslim Brotherhood.
Then you hear that the mob has told the police officers that you had posted that anti-Islam movie about the Prophet from that disgusting American on your facebook site. But you know you didn't and you know they are lying. And you don't understand how you can almost die in front of the police who never investigated anything when they where called to save you from the mob, but instead threw you in jail. Without evidence, without any reason. In Cairo. In 2012. In September.
And later you learn that the investigations of the prosecutor indeed show that you have not posted that shitty film on your facebook page, and that therefore they should never have arrested you and thrown you to the furious inmates inciting them to injure you. And you learn too that the General Prosecutor, who has already done his evil work under Mubarak and never cared for the murders of almost 1000 innocent Egyptian protesters, is still allowed to be evil and still allowed under President Morsi to continue in his evil work. And you think about the promises of this new President, who said that all murders of the revolution will be solved and all martyrs will get justice. And you know this will never, ever happen with this General Prosecutor, who did not care about the young protesters getting killed and who does not care to do what the new President tells the world in his interviews, and who still does not get sacked but can continue to be a felool, while the President just allows it to happen.
And then you learn, while you got your head shaved and have to share a dirty cell with too many inmates and get hardly something decent to eat and have to shit in front of the others while the cockroaches run around your feet, that the prosecutor knows you are innocent, but that he still won't set you free. Because he found out that you thought about religion and God and that you don't know who to believe, and to him this is worse than insulting religion, this is so evil that he would like to kill you and is sorry he can't, because there is no law for that in Egypt. And you learn that all evidence is withheld from your lawyers that your mother and human rights groups have now engaged for you. That the prosecutor is not giving it to the lawyers although he must, but he does not care for the law. He is above the law, as he was above the law under Mubarak and is now above the law under Morsi, because this new President is not better than the old one and does not care. And you learn that the prosecutor hisses at your lawyer how he can defend you, when you don't believe in a God! And you wonder why he knows nothing or cares for nothing that is called judicial procedures and defence of an accused or the rights of someone who has not been proven guilty. And you know, if he could, he would order you to be lashed or again thrown to inmates that try to kill you. And he would laugh about the blood running down your body and would go home not thinking about it anymore. Because his life is fine. His life has not changed. No revolution has forced him to change his evil way. He does not have to care for the law or human rights or the big words from the President. Because the President allows this to happen. In Egypt. In 2012. And so the prosecutor can say to the press that he demands the full punishment for you – for what?, you think – and no mercy, no mercy!
And the President says nothing. Only big words on television. And grins. Like the General Prosecutors grins. And you wonder why in God's name – yes, in his – you and your mother so often have risked your lives back then in Tahrir, when you fought for the revolution – that now eats you up like the regime before wanted to eat you up. And you ask yourself why so many died in Tahrir and around Egypt when what you got is only what you had. And you think that if you had wanted to be thrown in jail for nothing, you might as well have achieved this under Mubarak and that you would not have needed a revolution for this. Because what you get today is the treatment you could have gotten before. So why the fight and the many deaths? It has all been futile.
You are 27 years and of Coptic origin. You are not dumb. You have been taught to think and use your brains to question. And you have questioned. You have looked at the three big religions with their contradictory statements and their unequivocal belief only they are right, only their God is the one and only right God, and you looked at all that and were confused. Yes. You were a young man and you were confused. Now they hold that against you. Your crime, they say, is that you asked questions, that you tried for your life to find answers you could live with. Your crime, they say, is that you dared to use your own brains, that you not simply behaved like a sheep and said "blah, blah" when all demanded you to say "blah, blah" and not think, and not question, and obey blindly under the sword of religion that to you is not solace but confusion. Your crime, they tell you, is that you did what hundred thousands of people and philosophers have done before you in thousands of years that this world exists, trying to find answers to riddles that are so difficult to solve, trying to see light in dark tunnels, trying to find a personal way to understand life.
That was your crime. In Cairo. In 2012. In the 21st century after a revolution and under a President who says that now all are equal in Egypt. And he tells it to the world in staged interviews, grinning and smiling as if everything is in order. But he does not tell to that world that he is lying, that the Muslim Ahmed Mohamed Abdallah (known as Sheikh Abu Islam), who burned a Bible at the U.S. embassy protests and who was filmed doing that and who said that next time he will "urinate on it" and who too is charged with blasphemy, is free and not in jail and not beaten and not slashed with a razor across the neck and does not have to sit in a cage like an animal for all to watch and scorn at and has no mother who had to flee the angry mob threatening to kill her and burn the house down and who cannot return to her home because the Egyptian police is only protecting the mob but not the innocent woman. And who is not sitting in a dark, infested, dirty cell at night with unruly fellow inmates and is scared stiff that he will be sentenced to years in prison and never see his mother in freedom again and will not be able to protect her from the mob that still wants to kill her. In Egypt.
In the Egypt, where the President Morsi says, all now are equal. And where lying is still the name of the game in the presidency, in the judiciary, in the society. And nothing has changed from Mubarak times. Nothing has changed, just nothing. And they drag you from the cage after a futile court date, where your lawyers not even got the evidence against you into their hands, where the prosecutor molests your mother and treats her like dirt so that she weeps and weeps, and where you are insulted and degraded and can't help her from out of that cage. And they lead you down the stairs to the truck waiting to bring you back to your cell, and they need five men, five grown men to shove you down one single staircase, though your are handcuffed and thin and skinny from the shit treatment you had to endure already for weeks, and you can't look at your mother one last time because they won't let you, and you know that Abdallah is free and that the mob is free and that the General Prosecutor is free. And all are grinning and smiling and free. Because the President says in an interview that now all is good in Egypt and all are equal before the law. And you know you will spend your nights and days until the next court date in weeks in that infested, dirty cell, degraded, humiliated, treated like dirt. Because you too are an Egyptian. And equal. And you wonder what Morsi means, when he says "equal", and whether he knows that he is lying, and you don't know how you will survive.
Just imagine all this would happen to you. Your name would then be Alber Saber. And you would not understand why the world, why Egypt, why your fellow Egyptians, why the President Morsi is allowing all this to happen. But as this did not happen to you, you are not Alber Saber. That is wonderful. You will sleep well. Because Egypt is well. And all are equal now. And all is good now. And the President will not lie anymore and means what he says. Because he is not Mubarak. No. Mubarak is gone. There was a revolution, remember? Now all is well. And Egypt has nothing to fear anymore. Never again.
__________________________
Alber Saber was arrested on September 13, 2012 on false charges in Cairo, Egypt. He has not regained his freedom.
Report on the trial – The Washington Post
Report on the case – Daily News Egypt
The arrest video – "Alluha akbar"
Showing posts with label martyrs. Show all posts
Showing posts with label martyrs. Show all posts
September 30, 2012
January 19, 2012
In memory of martyr Ziad Bakir - Democracy, democracy, democracy
Is it almost a year already? Is it almost a year that Ziad Bakir left the house in Cairo to join the Egyptian revolution?
When Ziad went out on January 28 to be peacefully part of the quest for a new, free Egypt, he had no idea how murderous the regime was going to react. But when the day came to an end, he never returned.
Now that almost a year has passed, you might think the memory of all this has faded, the sadness of those, who loved him dearly, has passed on to bearability. It hasn‘t. „When you lose someone you love, 20 years are nothing“, a woman in a documentary said the other day who had lost relatives in a plane crash in 1979. - Twenty years is nothing. And a year? - So much less.
Did it really happen, this year? Or did all this happen only yesterday? For the relatives this question comes up again and again with no satisfactory answer.
Ziad Bakir was no revolutionary. He was an artist, a fine artist in his trade, heading the design department an the Cairo Opera House. His posters for performances were stunning in layout and colour, creative in their combination of text, photo and colour schemes, and art in itself. Even if you should have known that the event was going to be of poor quality, Ziad‘s posters were so brilliantly arranged and alive that they compelled you to visit the performance. What better quality could such a poster have? The Cairo Opera House was and could be proud of having him as their chief designer.
When Ziad went out into the streets of Cairo on that January 28 he had no rocks with him, no molotov cocktails, no weapons - just a perception of a dream: that Egypt - his Egypt he loved - would become free of tyrannical rule, would allow freedom of speech and secure democracy. For in his family these were values he and his sister and brother had been taught, with early contacts to other cultures and languages of the world. All this documented itself in his multicoloured, multicultural wonderful designs. And the soft-spoken, kindhearted father of three went out to see for himself if this dream of Egypt could peacefully come true.
The rest is bitter history. One day only, one single day turned everything upside down. When Ziad did not return even late at night, his family started to get worried. His sister, who was studying art in Europe and who had spoken with him again and again on the phone about the revolution of Egypt and what it could mean to the country, was deeply disturbed and immediately interrupted her studies and booked a flight home. When she arrived on January 31, Ziad had still not been found.
For weeks the family searched all possible places in Cairo, and while the revolution went on in Tahrir, where sister Mirette often could be seen with a photo of Ziad and her hopeful look, someone could recognize him and have some information about him, while Mubarak finally stepped down to the cheers of the Egyptian people - the fear grew in the hearts of those that loved him that he might perhaps never return. Yet, no one was willing to give up on him. His brother and cousin tirelessly searched the morgues and hospitals, his sister organized the media, giving interview after interview to the local and foreign press, hoping someone out there seeing it would have some news on Ziad.
Five long weeks
But the only news they kept getting was devastating in itself. Calls from unknown callers stating they knew where Ziad is, or saying they saw him only days ago in a prison in Sinai - or quite bluntly threatening the family that Ziad would never return alive if they did not stop talking to the press about him.
Undoubtedly the crooks of Amn El Dawla, of Mubarak‘s hated riot police or the despised former ruling party NDP thought it appropriate to torture the family even more. As if the desperate search for their son and brother day in and day out was not hard enough to bear.
Five weeks after Ziad had disappeared, a phone call from a trusted source came to say that a body was seen in Zenhom morgue that could be him. The family was in doubt, for his brother and cousin had been in Zenhom morgue many, many times in those five weeks, they had seen unbelievable scenes and unaccounted bodies, yet never a body that resembled him. But when they went to inspect, the hopes of finding Ziad alive, sitting perhaps in some godforsaken military prison in Egypt, was shattered. With all difficulties of identification, it was in the end to be taken that Ziad Bakir had been found. And his bullet wounds clearly showed that he had been killed by snipers from rooftops.
It is not wise to go back to every detail of those horrible days when he was found and finally buried on March 13. Why open all the wounds once more? A huge funeral was held at Omar Makram mosque next to Tahrir square, only a few meters away from the spot where Ziad had last been seen on that fateful January 28. Many had come to pay their respect: family and friends and many of his colleagues from the Cairo Opera House. Grieving, they parted from a man they had held close to their hearts for so many years and had now to let go.
Ziad Bakir died at the age of 37. A father of three wonderful children, a gifted, talented, friendly character who never found pleasure in hurting. Those who killed him from the rooftops of Cairo had no idea what they destroyed. To them he was nothing. To his family and friends he was a world.
A memorial exhibition
Only those who are forgotten, have truly died, a saying goes. And if this is so, then Ziad has never left. A moving eulogy was published by one of his colleagues, many memorials were held both in and out of Cairo Opera House, and now, that almost a year has passed and after seven months of intense preparation by his family and friends, a wonderful exhibition has opened in his memory at Hanager Arts Center on the Cairo Opera House grounds in Zamalek, showing for a fortnight his impressive posters and designs and making it once more possible to be captivated by his spirited, lively yet soft-treading talent. As if he was still with us, as if he was still alive. And when the people pass through the exhibition, marveling at the flow of movements and colours, his almost shy, humble smile will undoubtedly accompany them. Ziad is speaking to them through his art and many might be sorry that the performances, for which he once so compellingly advertised, are long over. Seeing the posters, one might yet be inclined to buy tickets. He artistically tempts us to the day.
The Ziad that left on January 28 might have been empty handed. But the Ziad that is remembered had a heart full of passion, of light and of dreams. It is art‘s privilege after all to see light where others see nothing, and a revolution also relies on dreamers if it wants to succeed. Life is nothing without art. Love is nothing without the belief in light. If all come together, the chances are good something new and valuable for the world is born.
The legacy
When hopes were still held up that Ziad could be alive in some military prison somewhere and would one day return to his family, his father, Mohamed Bakir, in an interview with the BBC was unmistakably clear about what was needed for the future of Egypt: „Democracy, democracy, democracy.“
His words to this day ring in my ear.
No, there is no sense in a killing, and nothing that comes can make it seem justifiable that Ziad Bakir, as so many others, lost his life. But if there is any legacy to be found in his death, let this be it - the ongoing responsibility to allow it to happen in Egypt: Democracy, democracy, democracy.
Only then will there be a chance for the family to come to rest. Only then will Egypt manage to bear the loss of its sons and daughters that were so ruthlessly torn from their lives. Harming nobody, chanting with joy and marching peacefully to their unexpected death, so Egypt could live.
----------------
Exhibition of works by martyr Ziad Bakir
18 January - 31 January
Hanager Art Center exhibition hall at the Cairo Opera House grounds
When Ziad went out on January 28 to be peacefully part of the quest for a new, free Egypt, he had no idea how murderous the regime was going to react. But when the day came to an end, he never returned.
Now that almost a year has passed, you might think the memory of all this has faded, the sadness of those, who loved him dearly, has passed on to bearability. It hasn‘t. „When you lose someone you love, 20 years are nothing“, a woman in a documentary said the other day who had lost relatives in a plane crash in 1979. - Twenty years is nothing. And a year? - So much less.
Did it really happen, this year? Or did all this happen only yesterday? For the relatives this question comes up again and again with no satisfactory answer.
Ziad Bakir was no revolutionary. He was an artist, a fine artist in his trade, heading the design department an the Cairo Opera House. His posters for performances were stunning in layout and colour, creative in their combination of text, photo and colour schemes, and art in itself. Even if you should have known that the event was going to be of poor quality, Ziad‘s posters were so brilliantly arranged and alive that they compelled you to visit the performance. What better quality could such a poster have? The Cairo Opera House was and could be proud of having him as their chief designer.
When Ziad went out into the streets of Cairo on that January 28 he had no rocks with him, no molotov cocktails, no weapons - just a perception of a dream: that Egypt - his Egypt he loved - would become free of tyrannical rule, would allow freedom of speech and secure democracy. For in his family these were values he and his sister and brother had been taught, with early contacts to other cultures and languages of the world. All this documented itself in his multicoloured, multicultural wonderful designs. And the soft-spoken, kindhearted father of three went out to see for himself if this dream of Egypt could peacefully come true.
The rest is bitter history. One day only, one single day turned everything upside down. When Ziad did not return even late at night, his family started to get worried. His sister, who was studying art in Europe and who had spoken with him again and again on the phone about the revolution of Egypt and what it could mean to the country, was deeply disturbed and immediately interrupted her studies and booked a flight home. When she arrived on January 31, Ziad had still not been found.
For weeks the family searched all possible places in Cairo, and while the revolution went on in Tahrir, where sister Mirette often could be seen with a photo of Ziad and her hopeful look, someone could recognize him and have some information about him, while Mubarak finally stepped down to the cheers of the Egyptian people - the fear grew in the hearts of those that loved him that he might perhaps never return. Yet, no one was willing to give up on him. His brother and cousin tirelessly searched the morgues and hospitals, his sister organized the media, giving interview after interview to the local and foreign press, hoping someone out there seeing it would have some news on Ziad.
Five long weeks
But the only news they kept getting was devastating in itself. Calls from unknown callers stating they knew where Ziad is, or saying they saw him only days ago in a prison in Sinai - or quite bluntly threatening the family that Ziad would never return alive if they did not stop talking to the press about him.
Undoubtedly the crooks of Amn El Dawla, of Mubarak‘s hated riot police or the despised former ruling party NDP thought it appropriate to torture the family even more. As if the desperate search for their son and brother day in and day out was not hard enough to bear.
Five weeks after Ziad had disappeared, a phone call from a trusted source came to say that a body was seen in Zenhom morgue that could be him. The family was in doubt, for his brother and cousin had been in Zenhom morgue many, many times in those five weeks, they had seen unbelievable scenes and unaccounted bodies, yet never a body that resembled him. But when they went to inspect, the hopes of finding Ziad alive, sitting perhaps in some godforsaken military prison in Egypt, was shattered. With all difficulties of identification, it was in the end to be taken that Ziad Bakir had been found. And his bullet wounds clearly showed that he had been killed by snipers from rooftops.
It is not wise to go back to every detail of those horrible days when he was found and finally buried on March 13. Why open all the wounds once more? A huge funeral was held at Omar Makram mosque next to Tahrir square, only a few meters away from the spot where Ziad had last been seen on that fateful January 28. Many had come to pay their respect: family and friends and many of his colleagues from the Cairo Opera House. Grieving, they parted from a man they had held close to their hearts for so many years and had now to let go.
Ziad Bakir died at the age of 37. A father of three wonderful children, a gifted, talented, friendly character who never found pleasure in hurting. Those who killed him from the rooftops of Cairo had no idea what they destroyed. To them he was nothing. To his family and friends he was a world.
A memorial exhibition
Only those who are forgotten, have truly died, a saying goes. And if this is so, then Ziad has never left. A moving eulogy was published by one of his colleagues, many memorials were held both in and out of Cairo Opera House, and now, that almost a year has passed and after seven months of intense preparation by his family and friends, a wonderful exhibition has opened in his memory at Hanager Arts Center on the Cairo Opera House grounds in Zamalek, showing for a fortnight his impressive posters and designs and making it once more possible to be captivated by his spirited, lively yet soft-treading talent. As if he was still with us, as if he was still alive. And when the people pass through the exhibition, marveling at the flow of movements and colours, his almost shy, humble smile will undoubtedly accompany them. Ziad is speaking to them through his art and many might be sorry that the performances, for which he once so compellingly advertised, are long over. Seeing the posters, one might yet be inclined to buy tickets. He artistically tempts us to the day.
The Ziad that left on January 28 might have been empty handed. But the Ziad that is remembered had a heart full of passion, of light and of dreams. It is art‘s privilege after all to see light where others see nothing, and a revolution also relies on dreamers if it wants to succeed. Life is nothing without art. Love is nothing without the belief in light. If all come together, the chances are good something new and valuable for the world is born.
The legacy
When hopes were still held up that Ziad could be alive in some military prison somewhere and would one day return to his family, his father, Mohamed Bakir, in an interview with the BBC was unmistakably clear about what was needed for the future of Egypt: „Democracy, democracy, democracy.“
His words to this day ring in my ear.
No, there is no sense in a killing, and nothing that comes can make it seem justifiable that Ziad Bakir, as so many others, lost his life. But if there is any legacy to be found in his death, let this be it - the ongoing responsibility to allow it to happen in Egypt: Democracy, democracy, democracy.
Only then will there be a chance for the family to come to rest. Only then will Egypt manage to bear the loss of its sons and daughters that were so ruthlessly torn from their lives. Harming nobody, chanting with joy and marching peacefully to their unexpected death, so Egypt could live.
----------------
Exhibition of works by martyr Ziad Bakir
18 January - 31 January
Hanager Art Center exhibition hall at the Cairo Opera House grounds
May 28, 2011
Tribute to the Unknown Hero of the Egyptian Revolution
Four months ago the revolution took off with people starting to march to Tahrir square not having the faintest idea what was going to become of it: A deadly attempt for 846 mostly young Egyptians to gain freedom - and the toppling of the hated Mubarak regime for all.
What began as just a protest many thought would disperse as usual within hours - became a tidal wave of demonstrations sweeping Egypt by storm, purging it from the hated crooks of Mubarak's regime and achieving the toppling of the dictator in only 18 days. Not only Egypt - the whole world was stunned at this record-braking pace to overthrow 30 years of tyranny and at the peacefulness with which this was achieved.
But the price for freedom was high: More than 6.000 Egyptians wounded by the dreaded security forces opening fire and almost 1.000 killed by gunshots, clubbed to death or driven over by security trucks. The pictures that were posted on the internet in those hectic days of the revolution and the videos shot with the mobile phones of activists were gruesome and hard to bear and become so abundant that one wanted to shy away from yet another visual proof of the cruelty the Mubarak forces exerted. To download it and preserve it was emotionally impossible. The fight was still on. Knowing of this proof was one thing and bad enough, the thought of keeping it for later at that time of upheaval seemed unbearable.
But four months and an astonishing development of events later the mind has not come to rest. It still sees those photos of bleeding civilians, of gunshot wounds and dying young people, still recalls the images of cars running over peaceful demonstrators hurling their bodies into the streets. The subconscience does not let go of these fateful memories and reminds us that life was cheap to those who now say - they can't remember.
I can. And if I think back to all those pictures and videos that accompanied the daily battle for freedom and the quivering hope this could be won against all odds - one image simply will not go away and is the strongest of all: the image of that young, unknown man in Alexandria who was gunned down point blank by the Mubarak forces in what seemed to be the most incomprehensible killing of all.
I don't know who he was. I don't know his face. But I know that I will never forget him in my life. For it was he that proved to us all that the yearning for freedom is such a strong power that no gun-firing dictatorial forces can ever prevent man from achieving it. - And be it only for half a minute.
Turmoil in Alexandria
January 28 - exactly four months ago to the day - was a day of anger all over Egypt. Tens of thousands took to the streets and demanded freedom and an end to oppression. They were met with brutal force by the security guards of the regime that - as we know now from the evidence and confessions in trials - had given order to shoot live ammunition at the peaceful demonstrators to quench the uprising. Snipers shot from roofs, police officers shot out of their police stations, ground forces fired into the masses of unarmed protesters. Hundreds died on this day by the hands of the regime, being cut down from behind or from above in surprise attacks, never seeing the killers that shot at them.
One man in Alexandria however did see his killers. He confronted them eye to eye, never budged or wavered, looked at them, spoke to them even, and stood his ground - calm, controlled and collected. When they shot him, he died in front of the eyes of the world - that was to see his killing only a week later. Because those that unintentionally had filmed this murder needed time to overcome the shock and to realize that this evidence had to be published at all costs. It was not only unspeakably horrid proof for the cold blooded ruthlessness of Mubarak's killers - much more it gave evidence of the pride of a young man who was not willing to give up on the one thing he wanted the most: his freedom.
The video was filmed by two women on a balcony of a house believed to be in the Manshya District in Alexandria. It shows the heat of the day with gunshots ringing out, people running for cover, protesters barricading themselves behind shields they are carrying, while a burning car tire rolls across the street. It is a day of brutality and deadly force.
And then happens what no one could have expected in this atmosphere filled with danger and fear: A young man walks calmly along the street towards the T junction where two armed forces with guns are waiting, the guns positioned ready to shoot. The young man comes to stand at the corner of the street, and when he sees one of the uniformed man standing rapidly up and aiming at him - he spreads his arms wide to show he is unarmed, he even lets his jacket drop so that both arms are confined now by the sleeves making it absolutely impossible for him to pose any danger to the men holding the weapons. He speaks to them calmly, something we cannot hear. He again spreads his arms, opens his chest. The armed men are unsure how to react. Suddenly six more appear from behind. Again the young man lets his arms fall down to his sides, the jacket restraining him good, showing the armed men that he is harmless, as innocent as anyone can be. He takes a step back still looking at them. Then a shot rings out. The young man drops to the ground - and is dead.
The women who unintentionally became witness to the killing scream in anguish and shock, try to get a better picture of the now dead young man lying on the street - and then cut the filming as the horror of what they have witnessed is to intense. We are left alone with the pictures in our head. And we don't know what to say, gasping for air.
The gesture of freedom
I have often had this scene flash through my mind in the last four months ever since and I would like to say that it haunts me. But while I gasp still to this day at a killing so unbelievably intentional and without the slightest reason, it is not so much the image of the young man dropping dead to the ground that is stuck in my mind - but the unbelievable sight before that - of a young man so determined to gain his personal freedom that he confronts armed forces with open arms and total vulnerability. It is the poise of the young man facing the tanks on the streets of Prague 1968 and the pride of that one unarmed young man standing in the middle of a street in Peking blocking a tank to enter Tiananmen square.
What is it that drives a young man to open his arms wide, revealing his chest with his precious heart to those threatening to kill him? It must be a hunger for peace and freedom that those who murdered him will never understand. It is true, from the moment he first opened his arms, unafraid, poised and proud, to the moment they shot him dead, only 30 seconds elapse. A terrible short time one should think. But in these 30 seconds, that when you know what will happen seem like an eternity, this young, unknown man of Alexandria was truly free. He was himself, he was without fear. For a split second he had the freedom they did not want him to have. He showed to them: Look here - you can kill me, but you can‘t take away my freedom. That was what got them so upset, made them so uneasy, scared them to such an extent that they killed him, thinking - with shooting him dead they could crush his freedom.
But they couldn‘t. What they did not understand: He had lived it already, there was nothing - not even killing him - that could alter that. He took his freedom in his own hands. And for 30 long seconds the armed forces were completely powerless and it was he that had the power of freedom in his hands. No one could give or deny it to him. It was his alone. He was at peace with himself.
Whenever I see his picture flashing accross my mind, which happens often since that brutal day of January 28, I see this unbelievable gesture of freedom - his arms spread out wide like a bird in a sky, opening himself and his chest to the armed forces in front of him, being as vulnerable as a young born child, innocent, pure - and undeterred in his belief to be free.
He will be forever remembered for this. His gesture of freedom is the gesture of all Egypt. His determination to strip away everything that could hold him down the determination of all of Egypt overthrowing the murderous regime. He is the unknown hero of the revolution and we should pay tribute to him and his courage that teaches us what being proud really means - and that freedom is the most precious thing we can possess.
If ever a monument is build in the memory of the martyrs of the Egyptian revolution - which is a must - I hope it will carry his gesture of freedom, his poise, show us his undeterred belief in the power of freedom. Because then - and only then - will it be really in honor of those 846 martyrs who gave their lives for a new Egypt.
An Egypt, that has yet to be truly free.
*******
(Should anyone ever find out the name of this heroic young man of Alexandria, please let me know. The world should know his name - and never forget him.)
Six months have passed since he was killed. But still his name is unknown. Even the human rights organizations deeply engaged in Egypt could not help. They themselves had tried to find out who he was, without any results. - I fear his name will remain unknown. But his bravery will not be forgotten. To us, who owe so much to those who gave their lives, he will forever be the Unknown Hero of the Egyptian Revolution.
*********
One year has passed since you were killed. Don't ever think I could forget you. I could never.
May you rest in peace.
*********
I promised you, I would not forget. Ever. I keep my promise.
*********
Five years have passed. But it is impossible to forget you. Impossible. R.I.P.
*********
What began as just a protest many thought would disperse as usual within hours - became a tidal wave of demonstrations sweeping Egypt by storm, purging it from the hated crooks of Mubarak's regime and achieving the toppling of the dictator in only 18 days. Not only Egypt - the whole world was stunned at this record-braking pace to overthrow 30 years of tyranny and at the peacefulness with which this was achieved.
But the price for freedom was high: More than 6.000 Egyptians wounded by the dreaded security forces opening fire and almost 1.000 killed by gunshots, clubbed to death or driven over by security trucks. The pictures that were posted on the internet in those hectic days of the revolution and the videos shot with the mobile phones of activists were gruesome and hard to bear and become so abundant that one wanted to shy away from yet another visual proof of the cruelty the Mubarak forces exerted. To download it and preserve it was emotionally impossible. The fight was still on. Knowing of this proof was one thing and bad enough, the thought of keeping it for later at that time of upheaval seemed unbearable.But four months and an astonishing development of events later the mind has not come to rest. It still sees those photos of bleeding civilians, of gunshot wounds and dying young people, still recalls the images of cars running over peaceful demonstrators hurling their bodies into the streets. The subconscience does not let go of these fateful memories and reminds us that life was cheap to those who now say - they can't remember.
I can. And if I think back to all those pictures and videos that accompanied the daily battle for freedom and the quivering hope this could be won against all odds - one image simply will not go away and is the strongest of all: the image of that young, unknown man in Alexandria who was gunned down point blank by the Mubarak forces in what seemed to be the most incomprehensible killing of all.
I don't know who he was. I don't know his face. But I know that I will never forget him in my life. For it was he that proved to us all that the yearning for freedom is such a strong power that no gun-firing dictatorial forces can ever prevent man from achieving it. - And be it only for half a minute.
Turmoil in Alexandria
January 28 - exactly four months ago to the day - was a day of anger all over Egypt. Tens of thousands took to the streets and demanded freedom and an end to oppression. They were met with brutal force by the security guards of the regime that - as we know now from the evidence and confessions in trials - had given order to shoot live ammunition at the peaceful demonstrators to quench the uprising. Snipers shot from roofs, police officers shot out of their police stations, ground forces fired into the masses of unarmed protesters. Hundreds died on this day by the hands of the regime, being cut down from behind or from above in surprise attacks, never seeing the killers that shot at them.
One man in Alexandria however did see his killers. He confronted them eye to eye, never budged or wavered, looked at them, spoke to them even, and stood his ground - calm, controlled and collected. When they shot him, he died in front of the eyes of the world - that was to see his killing only a week later. Because those that unintentionally had filmed this murder needed time to overcome the shock and to realize that this evidence had to be published at all costs. It was not only unspeakably horrid proof for the cold blooded ruthlessness of Mubarak's killers - much more it gave evidence of the pride of a young man who was not willing to give up on the one thing he wanted the most: his freedom.
The video was filmed by two women on a balcony of a house believed to be in the Manshya District in Alexandria. It shows the heat of the day with gunshots ringing out, people running for cover, protesters barricading themselves behind shields they are carrying, while a burning car tire rolls across the street. It is a day of brutality and deadly force.
And then happens what no one could have expected in this atmosphere filled with danger and fear: A young man walks calmly along the street towards the T junction where two armed forces with guns are waiting, the guns positioned ready to shoot. The young man comes to stand at the corner of the street, and when he sees one of the uniformed man standing rapidly up and aiming at him - he spreads his arms wide to show he is unarmed, he even lets his jacket drop so that both arms are confined now by the sleeves making it absolutely impossible for him to pose any danger to the men holding the weapons. He speaks to them calmly, something we cannot hear. He again spreads his arms, opens his chest. The armed men are unsure how to react. Suddenly six more appear from behind. Again the young man lets his arms fall down to his sides, the jacket restraining him good, showing the armed men that he is harmless, as innocent as anyone can be. He takes a step back still looking at them. Then a shot rings out. The young man drops to the ground - and is dead.
The women who unintentionally became witness to the killing scream in anguish and shock, try to get a better picture of the now dead young man lying on the street - and then cut the filming as the horror of what they have witnessed is to intense. We are left alone with the pictures in our head. And we don't know what to say, gasping for air.
The gesture of freedom
I have often had this scene flash through my mind in the last four months ever since and I would like to say that it haunts me. But while I gasp still to this day at a killing so unbelievably intentional and without the slightest reason, it is not so much the image of the young man dropping dead to the ground that is stuck in my mind - but the unbelievable sight before that - of a young man so determined to gain his personal freedom that he confronts armed forces with open arms and total vulnerability. It is the poise of the young man facing the tanks on the streets of Prague 1968 and the pride of that one unarmed young man standing in the middle of a street in Peking blocking a tank to enter Tiananmen square.
What is it that drives a young man to open his arms wide, revealing his chest with his precious heart to those threatening to kill him? It must be a hunger for peace and freedom that those who murdered him will never understand. It is true, from the moment he first opened his arms, unafraid, poised and proud, to the moment they shot him dead, only 30 seconds elapse. A terrible short time one should think. But in these 30 seconds, that when you know what will happen seem like an eternity, this young, unknown man of Alexandria was truly free. He was himself, he was without fear. For a split second he had the freedom they did not want him to have. He showed to them: Look here - you can kill me, but you can‘t take away my freedom. That was what got them so upset, made them so uneasy, scared them to such an extent that they killed him, thinking - with shooting him dead they could crush his freedom.
But they couldn‘t. What they did not understand: He had lived it already, there was nothing - not even killing him - that could alter that. He took his freedom in his own hands. And for 30 long seconds the armed forces were completely powerless and it was he that had the power of freedom in his hands. No one could give or deny it to him. It was his alone. He was at peace with himself.
Whenever I see his picture flashing accross my mind, which happens often since that brutal day of January 28, I see this unbelievable gesture of freedom - his arms spread out wide like a bird in a sky, opening himself and his chest to the armed forces in front of him, being as vulnerable as a young born child, innocent, pure - and undeterred in his belief to be free.
He will be forever remembered for this. His gesture of freedom is the gesture of all Egypt. His determination to strip away everything that could hold him down the determination of all of Egypt overthrowing the murderous regime. He is the unknown hero of the revolution and we should pay tribute to him and his courage that teaches us what being proud really means - and that freedom is the most precious thing we can possess.
If ever a monument is build in the memory of the martyrs of the Egyptian revolution - which is a must - I hope it will carry his gesture of freedom, his poise, show us his undeterred belief in the power of freedom. Because then - and only then - will it be really in honor of those 846 martyrs who gave their lives for a new Egypt.
An Egypt, that has yet to be truly free.
*******
(Should anyone ever find out the name of this heroic young man of Alexandria, please let me know. The world should know his name - and never forget him.)
Update - July 28, 2011
Six months have passed since he was killed. But still his name is unknown. Even the human rights organizations deeply engaged in Egypt could not help. They themselves had tried to find out who he was, without any results. - I fear his name will remain unknown. But his bravery will not be forgotten. To us, who owe so much to those who gave their lives, he will forever be the Unknown Hero of the Egyptian Revolution.
*********
Update - January 28, 2012
One year has passed since you were killed. Don't ever think I could forget you. I could never.
May you rest in peace.
*********
Update - January 28, 2013
I promised you, I would not forget. Ever. I keep my promise.
*********
Update - January 28, 2016
Five years have passed. But it is impossible to forget you. Impossible. R.I.P.
*********
May 19, 2011
The Murals of Egypt's Martyrs must be Preserved
When Islam Raafat got killed, he was only 18 years old. Not an unusual age unfortunately for becoming a martyr in the Egyptian revolution. 846 people so far are known to have died in their quest for freedom and most of them were not older than Islam was when a security truck ran him over near the Ministry of the Interior on January 28. He died shortly afterwards from a broken skull.
Only when someone is forgotten, the saying goes, does he really die. Islam Raafat did not really die. The memory of the 18 year old killed at the threshold of what was supposed to be a promising life was held up high by his family and friends and the picture of this almost shy looking boy was incorporated into the martyr's gallery Egypt remembers.
But that was not all. There was Ganzeer, a 29-year-old artist living in Cairo, who found his very special way of making sure that the martyrs of Egypt's revolution would not be forgotten. He started out painting bigger-than-life portraits of martyrs on walls of buildings and sites with a special masking technique that produced stunning results. Photos of martyrs were his guidelines, and when you saw the outcome you could be but impressed how alive the mural paintings appeared to be.
From now on Islam Raafat had a face again in Cairo, and when you came by Midan Falaky he looked at you with solemn pride as if to remind you not to forget the price that was paid for the revolution, not to take anything for granted or forget the sorrows that went with the freedom that now can be enjoyed by everyone but that was not meant for him. His eyes seemed to appeal to you to remember him. And who wouldn't want to. Who indeed.
„It is great to name streets after them." says Ganzeer regarding the martyrs. "But if a person actually walks on a street named after a martyr it won‘t have as much of an impact on the person as looking at a big mural of the martyr.“ So with his paintings the Cairene artists wants to make sure, both the revolution and those that perished in it will not ever be forgotten.
What Ganzeer created was something, all Egypt could be proud of. But some saw this differently. In April Egyptian authorities secretly went and destroyed the picture of Islam Raafat in Midan Falaky by ruthlessly painting it over with white paint. It came as a shock to the artist, to his friends and most surely to his family. It was, as if he was killed a second time. But this time there was no uprising in which this destruction was embedded, no turmoil clouding the mind of those that destroyed. This time it was calculated and deliberate. They wanted to erase him.
The stupidity of this action - not to speak of the heartlessness - knows no bounds. A society on the verge of freedom is lost if it forgets the history that brought it there. 846 people - sisters and brothers, mothers and fathers, cousins, aunts and uncles - died in the uprising, killed just for stepping out into the open and demanding peacefully a life without oppression. It is these people that died for the freedom of Egypt on which Egypt's future will be build. They are the seedlings from which one day hopefully a strong and proud tree will flourish. But if you destroy your seedlings, you will lose your harvest. If you forget your martyrs, you forget the pain and the price that had to be paid to be free.
There might be those still in Egypt who have just that in mind. One should not let them get away with it. The murals of Ganzeer are a proud and artistically valuable tribute to the martyrs of the January 25 revolution. Not all the names of the 846 killed have been released, and it will surely be almost impossible, as Ganzeer had planned, to paint every face of a martyr into the daily life of Egypt. But those that he does manage should be regarded as highly as a shrine, should be guarded by the Egyptians just as they guarded each other in Tahrir square and should become a proud heritage of this country that has so much heritage already to be proud of.
It will be for the better. Already now the Egyptian revolution has made headlines around the world, holding people in awe of what was achieved by peaceful means. One day, if this revolution will not fail - for it is not won yet but only on the verge of winning -, tourists from all places will come to Egypt not only to be fascinated by the antiquities and the awe-inspiring pyramids but also to see the places where the successful revolution of Egypt took place, where peaceful demonstrators defended freedom against the onslaughts of a brutal dictatorial regime and where far too many young Egyptians lost their lives in their burning desire to be free. These tourists will not only gasp at the grandeur of Karnak or Giza but too will stand with utmost respect in front of bigger-than-life murals of martyrs, admiring the Egyptian people for not forgetting to whom they owe their freedom and their life. If you honor your dead they say, you are a respectable person. If you honor your martyrs, you are a respectable nation.
Islam Raafat will be back
This weekend Ganzeer has promised to bring back Islam Raafat to Midan Falaky. He calls it the #madgraffitiweekend on twitter and invites everyone to come and join in. If you have any chance to go, do. You'll see the fascinating process of the picture developing and will understand even more how much effort and care is put into the murals that should be preserved by Egypt at all costs.
Don't be distracted by the name. The idea of it all is not crazy. And so much is certain – these grafittis are anything but mad.
-------------------------------------
For an interesting insight report on the explosion of creative energy in the alternative arts of Egypt you might additionally want to read this article by Jack Shenker in the Guardian:
Egypt's uprising brings DIY spirit out on to the streets
*****
Only when someone is forgotten, the saying goes, does he really die. Islam Raafat did not really die. The memory of the 18 year old killed at the threshold of what was supposed to be a promising life was held up high by his family and friends and the picture of this almost shy looking boy was incorporated into the martyr's gallery Egypt remembers.
But that was not all. There was Ganzeer, a 29-year-old artist living in Cairo, who found his very special way of making sure that the martyrs of Egypt's revolution would not be forgotten. He started out painting bigger-than-life portraits of martyrs on walls of buildings and sites with a special masking technique that produced stunning results. Photos of martyrs were his guidelines, and when you saw the outcome you could be but impressed how alive the mural paintings appeared to be.
From now on Islam Raafat had a face again in Cairo, and when you came by Midan Falaky he looked at you with solemn pride as if to remind you not to forget the price that was paid for the revolution, not to take anything for granted or forget the sorrows that went with the freedom that now can be enjoyed by everyone but that was not meant for him. His eyes seemed to appeal to you to remember him. And who wouldn't want to. Who indeed.
„It is great to name streets after them." says Ganzeer regarding the martyrs. "But if a person actually walks on a street named after a martyr it won‘t have as much of an impact on the person as looking at a big mural of the martyr.“ So with his paintings the Cairene artists wants to make sure, both the revolution and those that perished in it will not ever be forgotten.
Watch Simon Hanna's report on the Murals for Martyrs
What Ganzeer created was something, all Egypt could be proud of. But some saw this differently. In April Egyptian authorities secretly went and destroyed the picture of Islam Raafat in Midan Falaky by ruthlessly painting it over with white paint. It came as a shock to the artist, to his friends and most surely to his family. It was, as if he was killed a second time. But this time there was no uprising in which this destruction was embedded, no turmoil clouding the mind of those that destroyed. This time it was calculated and deliberate. They wanted to erase him.
The stupidity of this action - not to speak of the heartlessness - knows no bounds. A society on the verge of freedom is lost if it forgets the history that brought it there. 846 people - sisters and brothers, mothers and fathers, cousins, aunts and uncles - died in the uprising, killed just for stepping out into the open and demanding peacefully a life without oppression. It is these people that died for the freedom of Egypt on which Egypt's future will be build. They are the seedlings from which one day hopefully a strong and proud tree will flourish. But if you destroy your seedlings, you will lose your harvest. If you forget your martyrs, you forget the pain and the price that had to be paid to be free.
There might be those still in Egypt who have just that in mind. One should not let them get away with it. The murals of Ganzeer are a proud and artistically valuable tribute to the martyrs of the January 25 revolution. Not all the names of the 846 killed have been released, and it will surely be almost impossible, as Ganzeer had planned, to paint every face of a martyr into the daily life of Egypt. But those that he does manage should be regarded as highly as a shrine, should be guarded by the Egyptians just as they guarded each other in Tahrir square and should become a proud heritage of this country that has so much heritage already to be proud of.
It will be for the better. Already now the Egyptian revolution has made headlines around the world, holding people in awe of what was achieved by peaceful means. One day, if this revolution will not fail - for it is not won yet but only on the verge of winning -, tourists from all places will come to Egypt not only to be fascinated by the antiquities and the awe-inspiring pyramids but also to see the places where the successful revolution of Egypt took place, where peaceful demonstrators defended freedom against the onslaughts of a brutal dictatorial regime and where far too many young Egyptians lost their lives in their burning desire to be free. These tourists will not only gasp at the grandeur of Karnak or Giza but too will stand with utmost respect in front of bigger-than-life murals of martyrs, admiring the Egyptian people for not forgetting to whom they owe their freedom and their life. If you honor your dead they say, you are a respectable person. If you honor your martyrs, you are a respectable nation.
Islam Raafat will be back
This weekend Ganzeer has promised to bring back Islam Raafat to Midan Falaky. He calls it the #madgraffitiweekend on twitter and invites everyone to come and join in. If you have any chance to go, do. You'll see the fascinating process of the picture developing and will understand even more how much effort and care is put into the murals that should be preserved by Egypt at all costs.
Don't be distracted by the name. The idea of it all is not crazy. And so much is certain – these grafittis are anything but mad.
-------------------------------------
Mad Graffiti Weekend 20-21 May
Part one: Stencil Cutting
Friday, 20 May, 10:30 AM
Place: 7 Nubar st, Floor 11
Part Two: Applying on Streets
Saturday, 21 May, Time To Be Determined
Place: Between Downtown & Zamalek
To assist in stencil-cutting & application, please call Mr. Nadim on 012 23 53 518
Friday, 20 May, 10:30 AM
Place: 7 Nubar st, Floor 11
Part Two: Applying on Streets
Saturday, 21 May, Time To Be Determined
Place: Between Downtown & Zamalek
To assist in stencil-cutting & application, please call Mr. Nadim on 012 23 53 518
For inquiries from media personnel and documenters, please call Miss Aida on 015 028 23 967
*****
For an interesting insight report on the explosion of creative energy in the alternative arts of Egypt you might additionally want to read this article by Jack Shenker in the Guardian:
Egypt's uprising brings DIY spirit out on to the streets
*****
April 04, 2011
840 killed in Jan25 revolution!
Shocking news from the Ministry of Health: The official death toll of the Egyptian revolution has now reached 840!
Up until now it was believed, 686 peaceful demonstrators had been killed by security forces at Tahrir and in the streets of the Egyptian cities. Now an Egyptian health ministry official said that 384 deaths had been recorded in hospitals affiliated with the ministry, but deaths at private, police, military and university hospitals showed the total number of victims has reached 840.
According to the newspaper Al-Masry Al-Youm the ministry official, Hesham Sheeha, went on to say that the number of injured people had reached 6.467.
The health ministry has now submitted these reports to the general prosecutor but pointed out, the ministry was not in charge of preparing reports for all the deaths.
This can only mean it is up to the general prosecutor to prepare all these cases and file charges in criminal court as soon as possible. That will not be an easy task. Only few cases of about 100 have been handed over to the criminal court so far, cases in which the killers had been identified by witnesses. But what about all those many killings that took place in the midst of the uprising where hardly any valid identification of individual killers was possible?
Bullet proof
One thing urgently needed is sound ballistics for evidence. In not few victims the bullets were still embedded when families finally found their bodies in hospitals and morgues. Many families however were pressured to sign 'natural cause' on the death certificates for their beloved ones or the bodies would not be handed to them. Not few in their grief have given in to this blackmail (that according to hospital and morgue workers came from "orders high up"), others have not. Some where determined enough and willing to allow for an autopsy securing the bullets that killed their kin. For others this was an impossible thing to do due to cultural issues. In those cases important evidence will forever have been lost with the burying of the body.
But ballistics is vital in establishing who shot a person. For each gun has a distinct and individual fingerprint it leaves on a bullet. So that a bullet - given ballistic experts are at hand - can lead back to the individual weapon used. Then with a high degree of certainty one would be able to pin the killer.
All this will however only be possible if the authorities of the general prosecutor are truly determined to find out individuals linked to individual killings. Up to now this is not certain. While 100 cases have been transfered to the criminal courts, the authorities have pointed out that many killings will not be solved and former Minister of Interior Al-Adly will be charged with them. For it is him the general prosecutor has established as having given order to shoot at demonstrators with live ammunition.
For the families of those killed this will only be a small solace. They want to know exactly who killed their brother, father, son, cousin - or of course (and not in that order) sister, mother, daughter or cousin. It will not be enough for them that Al-Adly gets all the blame but the actual killer gets off running free. They will not ever be able to come to terms with the horrors that happened during the peaceful revolution of #jan25 - the killing of 840 unarmed, innocent, peaceful Egyptians.
Don't fail on them for a second time ya government. See to it that all possible means are exploited to really find out who killed the 840 martyrs of Egypt!
Up until now it was believed, 686 peaceful demonstrators had been killed by security forces at Tahrir and in the streets of the Egyptian cities. Now an Egyptian health ministry official said that 384 deaths had been recorded in hospitals affiliated with the ministry, but deaths at private, police, military and university hospitals showed the total number of victims has reached 840.
According to the newspaper Al-Masry Al-Youm the ministry official, Hesham Sheeha, went on to say that the number of injured people had reached 6.467.
The health ministry has now submitted these reports to the general prosecutor but pointed out, the ministry was not in charge of preparing reports for all the deaths.
This can only mean it is up to the general prosecutor to prepare all these cases and file charges in criminal court as soon as possible. That will not be an easy task. Only few cases of about 100 have been handed over to the criminal court so far, cases in which the killers had been identified by witnesses. But what about all those many killings that took place in the midst of the uprising where hardly any valid identification of individual killers was possible?
Bullet proof
One thing urgently needed is sound ballistics for evidence. In not few victims the bullets were still embedded when families finally found their bodies in hospitals and morgues. Many families however were pressured to sign 'natural cause' on the death certificates for their beloved ones or the bodies would not be handed to them. Not few in their grief have given in to this blackmail (that according to hospital and morgue workers came from "orders high up"), others have not. Some where determined enough and willing to allow for an autopsy securing the bullets that killed their kin. For others this was an impossible thing to do due to cultural issues. In those cases important evidence will forever have been lost with the burying of the body.
But ballistics is vital in establishing who shot a person. For each gun has a distinct and individual fingerprint it leaves on a bullet. So that a bullet - given ballistic experts are at hand - can lead back to the individual weapon used. Then with a high degree of certainty one would be able to pin the killer.
All this will however only be possible if the authorities of the general prosecutor are truly determined to find out individuals linked to individual killings. Up to now this is not certain. While 100 cases have been transfered to the criminal courts, the authorities have pointed out that many killings will not be solved and former Minister of Interior Al-Adly will be charged with them. For it is him the general prosecutor has established as having given order to shoot at demonstrators with live ammunition.
For the families of those killed this will only be a small solace. They want to know exactly who killed their brother, father, son, cousin - or of course (and not in that order) sister, mother, daughter or cousin. It will not be enough for them that Al-Adly gets all the blame but the actual killer gets off running free. They will not ever be able to come to terms with the horrors that happened during the peaceful revolution of #jan25 - the killing of 840 unarmed, innocent, peaceful Egyptians.
Don't fail on them for a second time ya government. See to it that all possible means are exploited to really find out who killed the 840 martyrs of Egypt!
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