Once Upon a Revolution (26 page)

Basem still showed up at Tahrir when the Revolutionary Youth Coalition backed this or that Friday protest, but he preferred to work on his political party's business, especially the pressing parliamentary campaign. By now, he said, he spent 90 percent of his time on party politics and 10 percent on the Revolutionary Youth Coalition. “The coalition is a brand,” he said matter-of-factly. The casualness of the remark surprised me. He was right, of course; Tahrir was a brand too. Basem wasn't sentimental. He had his convictions and felt no need to dress them up in mystical mumbo jumbo. Yet it felt almost sacrilegious to use the language of marketing to describe Egypt's historical pivot.

As the Islamists were coalescing, the liberals were fracturing into a bickering field of competitors. Even within the Social Democratic Party, disagreements flared over how much selling out was permissible in the pursuit of power. Zyad el-Elaimy sympathized with the moral activists who wanted to boycott the elections or refuse contributions from rich, unsavory donors. But he argued that without tangible power, every single one of the revolution's ambitions would be stillborn. “It's all about politics,” he said. “Revolution is politics. It is silly to try to separate them.” Winning elections in Egypt would require enough campaign money for expensive radio and television ads, and that money was to be found in the hands of the old elite. The billionaire Christian mogul Naguib Sawiris had founded his own Free Egyptians Party, which appealed to Christians and to classical liberals: people who supported free markets but weren't progressive. The party had plenty of
felool
, corrupt businessmen, and old ruling party members in its ranks. Basem and Zyad pushed for an alliance with Sawiris. They knew he needed the support of revolutionaries so that his party wouldn't be pigeonholed as reactionary and sectarian; Sawiris knew the revolutionaries needed his cash. Ultimately, Basem and Zyad prevailed in the internal vote, and the Social Democratic Party formed an electoral alliance with the Free Egyptians. Without it, Basem and his fellow socialists wouldn't have been able to afford any of the expensive radio and television ads considered indispensable for reaching a largely illiterate electorate. Many revolutionaries quit the party in disgust, while
others, such as Sally, grudgingly remained but refused to help with the campaign. It was an uncomfortable compromise that created a rift between those who emphasized their liberal identity and those who valued the revolution above all.

The union, called the Egyptian Bloc, came with lots of funding. Secular liberals had hoped to assemble a grand coalition to challenge the Islamists, but it fell apart over the question of
felool
. Moaz and the Revolutionary Youth Coalition wanted a total ban that would exclude several million National Democratic Party members from politics. Basem and Zyad were willing to settle for a coalition that excluded only former members of parliament and National Democratic Party members under criminal investigation. Personal vanity and sincere ideological differences between left, center, and right also came into play. Most of the secular or liberal party activists wanted to be king and had no instinct for sharing a podium, much less political power. As a result, most of the liberal parties fell apart, leaving only the Social Democrats and the Free Egyptians. Even they could not agree on a unified slate of candidates, finally deciding to split up the country, with each party running alone in half the districts. By the time they had figured out how to coordinate, the campaign was halfway finished. Basem had to move to a new district, yielding his Parliament Street district to a Sawiris candidate.

The Egyptian Bloc formally debuted two weeks before voting began in the first round of parliamentary elections, which were to take place in three stages from November to January. Under a bland corporate logo of two hands and a stylized Egyptian flag, the bloc's motto urged somewhat generically, “Together we will get our rights.”

Sawiris's fortune made him the single most important bankroller of secular liberal politics. He made an unfortunate symbol. He was a hard partyer known for boozy nights at Cairo hot spots and lavish cruises around the Mediterranean. He already had enraged Islamists by tweeting a cartoon that mocked the face-covering
niqab
, or full veil, worn by some Muslim women. Sawiris had alienated revolutionaries with his brazenly plutocratic lifestyle and lack of concern for the poor. He was articulate but off-color and clearly out of step with the pious lifestyles of most Egyptians, Muslim or Christian. He had made his billions during the old
regime, which made him suspect even though he hadn't been a favored Mubarak crony. This was the best hope of the liberals: a partnership between a tone-deaf mogul and a group of earnest, secular, well-to-do socialist professionals. The Free Egyptians traded on fear, recruiting Christians by harping on the threat of Islamist domination. Their money felt dirty and their politics divisive. That could be what it would take to win.

Sawiris launched the Egyptian Bloc ostentatiously from the Shepheard Hotel's tenth-floor ballroom overlooking the Nile. Slabs of marble cake towered on crystal platters. A few hundred men and women in formal business attire celebrated on Naguib Sawiris's dime. Zyad was in full swing, seeking to frighten and then inspire his listeners. “On Kandahar Friday,” he told the fancy crowd in the ballroom, “I went to Tahrir Square because I felt it was our square, and I didn't want to let them take it over from us. But I felt like I was not in my own country. If we don't want our country to turn into Saudi Arabia, the Egyptian Bloc is our only choice. We don't want Kandahar Friday to happen again.” Zyad strode off the stage and headed to a television studio for an interview.

Basem skipped the big show at the Shepheard Hotel. He didn't want to waste any energy on activities that didn't translate directly into votes. Every night in November, Basem dedicated the two hours after sunset to neighborhood stumping. His team picked a street in his new district, the jam-packed and heavily Christian enclave of Shoubra, and Basem shook as many hands as he could. He wanted people in his district to see his face and learn his name. If a voter appeared receptive but ambivalent, he would engage in a five-minute debate. For two-thirds of the seats in their district, voters would select a party from a list of more than a hundred. For the remaining seats, voters would choose individual candidates from an equally long list. The first struggle for any candidate, or party, was simply to get voters to remember his name and the symbol by which he would be identified on the ballot for the illiterate.

Basem's opponents, the Muslim Brotherhood, had been campaigning nonstop since Ramadan: four months of constant barnstorming. The Salafis, whose cash-rich clerics preached to ready audiences, were
finding remarkable success with their ultraconservative message. They campaigned on a platform of rigid enforcement of sharia. Their female candidates were represented by a sketch of a rose because women ought not to be seen in public. A devout, Koranic Egypt could overcome all its problems, the Salafis said.

Meanwhile, the secular Egyptian Bloc, the rump end of a fragmentary and elitist liberal coalition, was hitting the streets at the last minute with a vague message. Most of their candidates looked visibly uncomfortable on a sidewalk, and even more so in the company of a
shaabi
, or lower-class Egyptian. Basem, however, loved it. It brought him back to his days at construction sites. His new district stretched north and east from downtown. He was now operating out of a first-floor apartment at 138 Shoubra Street, across a wide boulevard from the police station. He'd been interviewed by all the major television hosts. On the street, many people recognized him, even if they weren't always sure why. “We have no idea how well we are doing,” Basem said as he set out for his nightly meet and greet. “We have no money for polls.” Two young boys from the neighborhood fanned out ahead, distributing orange pamphlets with a photo of Basem, the Social Democratic Party platform, and the slogan “Egyptians deserve a real choice. Together we will get our rights.”

Two of Basem's brothers, Ahmed and Sameh, walked with him that night. The Kamel family operated as a unit. All four brothers still lived in the same building as their parents, and their sister, Ines, lived nearby. Basem's kids routinely spent the night with their aunt or uncles. Three of the brothers worked at ABC Architecture and Design, the family business. Basem's campaign was a family operation as well. The brothers went to the office during the day and helped Basem run for office in the evening. “How to feed the kids?” Basem said. “We don't have the luxury not to work.”

Tonight a film crew was following him with a bright light. “People pay more attention,” Basem said. “They think you must be important.” He was wearing a beige suit and a blue plaid shirt, with no tie. Everyone else in the entourage shivered in sweaters.

“I don't like members of parliament!” a minimart proprietor shouted. “We've seen nothing since the revolution!”

“What's important is that you vote, even if not for us,” Basem replied.

“When are the elections, anyway?” a customer in the shop asked.

Citizens who in the past had passively ignored or accepted political theater now felt free to express their gripes. Many responded to Basem with suspicion as he approached. One man crumpled Basem's flier and threw it on the ground. “It doesn't even list your profession!” he sneered. Another said he would vote for no one. Another accused Basem of being a grifter.

“
Izzayak?
What's up?” Basem approached a group of men smoking
shisha
, or waterpipes. “Will you vote?”

“We don't know who these people on the lists are,” one of them said. “I don't know you. I don't know who you are, what you are after.”

Unfazed, Basem plowed forward, in his zone. As aides handed out fliers with the party's platform, Basem hit the highlights. “We're Social Democrats,” he said. “We believe in rights for everyone. We believe in social justice. The state must make sure the poor have housing and food and jobs. And it is the responsibility of the state to help our economy grow.”

He bear-hugged a man with an enormous beard. “Don't vote for the Salafis!” he said.

“Long live the revolution!” the Salafi replied. “I don't support you, but I like your arguments.”

Unlike Basem with his slick campaign, the Revolutionary Youth Coalition was in disarray. Some of its smartest members were immobilized. Alaa Abdel Fattah had been arrested on ridiculous charges of conspiring to shoot the army at Maspero. Even Mina Daniel had been charged posthumously with perpetrating the massacre that killed him. Others seemed terminally distracted. A few weeks before Egypt's first serious opportunity to wrest control of the country away from the old regime and the authoritarian Islamists, the parliamentary elections, Ahmed Maher, founder of the April 6 Movement, and Asmaa Mahfouz, the inspiring orator, were both in New York City marching with the 99 percent in the Occupy Wall Street movement.