Cairo's Forever War

The day after a massacre, Egypt's Islamists settle in for a long fight.

CAIRO — As Egypt enters a tense, hot Ramadan, supporters of overthrown President Mohamed Morsy have settled in for a long fight.

By the tens of thousands, if not more, they packed the square and streets around Cairo's Rabaa al-Adaweya Mosque on Tuesday night, the eve of the holy month, praying, celebrating, and listening to a recording of the man they still consider their country's leader. They vowed not to leave until he is reinstated.

"We're not just the Muslim Brotherhood, all the Egyptians are here in the streets with us," said Tantawi Mohamed, a general surgeon who arrived at the sit-in on Saturday from his home governorate of Minya, some four hours to the south. "I work in a private hospital. My people, my wife, I left them all in Minya and came here and I'll stand here until Doctor Morsy returns to us."

The Rabaa al-Adaweya sit-in has waxed and waned since it began more than a week ago in response to the millions of protesters who turned out to demand Morsy leave. But on Tuesday -- even after a bloody army rampage left at least 51 of Morsy's supporters dead the previous morning -- the demonstration grew huge and festive, taking on the atmosphere of an Islamist Tahrir Square.

Amateur guards in hard hats apologized for pat-downs at the chest-high, ad-hoc brick barricades blocking the road toward the mosque. Behind them, a swarm of vendors sold popcorn, pears, koshari, vegetables, and juice, in addition to Egyptian flags, religious trinkets, black banners bearing the Islamic testament of faith, and a seemingly endless number of Morsy posters.

A crowd surrounded a group of men who danced in a circle, singing "Egypt is Islamic, Egypt is Islamic."

When lines of Morsy's supporters bowed in prayer, they packed the roads that branched away from the mosque for more than a hundred yards in several directions. Thin lines of protesters squeezed among their ranks to get in and out, many of them families with women and children. It was a crowd notably more conservative than the counterpart that ousted their president, but not without diversity in both class and dress.

"There must be 100,000 people here," said a young man attempting to enter, his hands on the back of the man in front of him.

"No man, there's two or three million," said an older man confidently, on his way out.

Many of those at the sit-in seemed to be in a constant state of worship. During a pause in one of the main prayers, they listened as a familiar voice, hard to hear at first, came over the battered loudspeakers hanging from intermittent lamp posts. Men called for silence.

It was the voice of Morsy from a year ago, delivering a speech marking the beginning of Ramadan, when he was president.

"He's still president," said Tarek Osman, a 43-year-old textile engineer standing beneath a tent next to a flat-bed truck loaded with tomatoes and cucumbers.

He said that he had once trusted Defense Minister Abdel Fattah al-Sisi, the man who had been elevated by Morsy shortly after he took office -- and helped orchestrate the popular coup that ended his presidency. Sisi had once been perceived as close to Morsy, the two less than friendly but far more at ease than one might expect of a general and a long-repressed Muslim Brother. Sisi's personal religious devotion reportedly contributed to this perception.

But to the tens of thousands packing the Rabaa el-Adaweya sit-in, which wraps around a large defense ministry compound, Sisi is now the enemy, a traitor. "The price of treason is blood," according to graffiti that has been scrawled beneath military guard towers across the walls of the compound. Then came the soldiers and riot police, who killed 51 Morsy supporters and wounded at least 300 more in a Monday pre-dawn attack on an extension of the sit-in at the Republican Guards Club.

"Sisi killed the people praying beside the Republican Guards but he left protesters in front of the federal palace [on June 30]," Osman said, pointing to the massive anti-Morsy demonstrations that eventually led Sisi to step in, detain Morsy, and end his government. "Why this imbalance?"

Osman echoed a belief held by many of Morsy's supporters that those who opposed them did so not out of legitimate desire to change a failing government, but because they had been manipulated or fired by vengeance.

"Sisi told us that when the people made a revolution on the 30th of June, he obeyed the revolution. But that's not a revolution, because everyone in Tahrir or the federal palace was firstly sons of army members, and Christians, and the followers of Mubarak, the thieves, the thugs," he said. "That's not our people, authentic people in Egypt. The authentic people are here."

Those inside the Rabaa al-Adaweya sit-in -- who have been energized by Brotherhood leaders to remain, peacefully, until Morsy returns -- hold Osman's view. Outside, many citizens, political elites, and privately owned media have already begun to move on. They're characterizing Morsy's supporters as "extremists," or even "terrorists." The two worldviews seem cleanly separated, the lack of overlap a dismal sign for reconciliation, even as the military-backed interim government begins to appoint ministers and lay a roadmap for elections which it says the Brotherhood can join.

Outside a fast-food restaurant, a group of protesters watched their own sit-in play out on a television screen. One man in glasses and a pressed white dress shirt stepped away to speak quietly.

A resident of the neighborhood, he didn't want to give his name. He said that the protesters who had been encamped outside the Republican Guards Club instigated the military's lethal response. Perhaps two dozen men on motorbikes and firing birdshot charged a guarded barricade in an attempt to breach the club.

He dismissed the argument, put forth by Morsy's supporters, that the popular but ultimately military-backed coup against an elected president had been a devastating crime against "legitimacy."

"Couldn't you say Mubarak had legitimacy," he asked. "If 30 million people come down to the streets, what does that mean ... If they want to elect one of their men again, OK, they can do it in two months or six months."

But compromise is not on the agenda of the Rabaa el-Adaweya protesters, nor of the Brotherhood's leaders -- at least not publicly.

As a long march of Morsy supporters symbolically carrying their own funeral shrouds and bearing mock coffins symbolizing the 51 people who died on Monday morning entered the sit-in, five men held up a banner with images of two dead protesters and the words: "Our peacefulness met with bullets."

Aisha Ibrahim, a bespectacled housewife wearing a niqab and a green headband reading "yes to legitimacy," watched the coffins come in.

"It was dirty work. The army had to shoot us while we were praying," she said, her voice hoarse. "I'm not afraid of anyone, our lord is here."

Ibrahim complained that private media channels -- which now display banners reading "against terrorism" and "the people's word against extremism" -- were lying about the Rabaa al-Adaweya sit-in. Video provided by the military and aired by some in the wake of the Republican Guards shooting showed, among images of Morsy supporters firing homemade handguns, bottles of whiskey supposedly recovered from their tents.

"All those corrupt channels, like CBC, I don't want to say names, they said we had weapons and bottles of wine.... On the contrary, when you go into the middle of the people, it's a place of good manners, a place of respectability, a place of morals," she said.

Negotiating with the military after the "massacre" was impossible, she said.

"After what happened? Never, never. What should happen is that Doctor Morsy returns," Ibrahim said. "They tell you that we're the minority. Do you see all that? That's a minority. When you leave and go write, tell them we're not a minority."



Shot in the Back

Eyewitnesses describe a deadly rampage in Cairo.

CAIRO — It was around 3:30 a.m. in Cairo on Monday morning and time for fajr, the first of the day's five Muslim prayers. In an hour and a half, the sun would rise. Now, it was still dark. On a wide boulevard running in front of the heavily guarded gates of the Republican Guard club, a few hundred protesters were entering the fourth day of a sit-in demanding the reinstatement of ousted President Mohamed Morsy. They had been waiting, sleeping in sparse shade through the hot days, believing their president was held inside the compound. On Monday morning, they formed into lines, their backs turned to the soldiers guarding the gate, and began to pray.

Less than two thousand feet away, in a high-rise apartment on the other side of the sprawling club, Salah and his family awoke. They prepared for fajr. Then they heard gunshots.

Salah rushed to the window, turned on his phone and began to film. The shots cracked through the pre-dawn darkness, followed by more -- a rapid series of single blasts that sounded like they came from rifles. There was distant and incoherent shouting. Something that look liked black smoke drifted upward, and then more shots. Down below, inside the club, Salah watched soldiers throw on flak jackets, jump into vehicles and drive toward the commotion.

"There is no God but God," he muttered in trepidation.

On the streets in front of the club, something terrible was happening. How it began, too, is shrouded in darkness. But how it ended was clear: at least 51 dead protesters, a dead soldier and a dead policeman. It was the worst act of state violence since the 2011 uprising, a "massacre" that threatened to push the huge but temporarily defeated Muslim Brotherhood even further from reconciliation with a new government they view as completely illegitimate.

"The killing isn't random or individual or against thugs like before. The killing is systematic and programmed, instructed and ordered by the military," Mohamed el-Beltagy, a leading member of the Brotherhood's Freedom and Justice Party, told reporters later on Monday. "This is a crime that threatens all Egyptians, that this is the regime that awaits Egypt if they allow the continuation of this military coup."

The two narratives of what occurred on Monday morning are as polarized as Egypt's politics, where belief now seems to hinge on affiliation over logic. The Brotherhood, castigated by many as an insular, clannish and reactionary religious militia, find themselves out of power and bereft of non-Islamist allies. They're framed by popular, privately-owned media as thuggish criminals undeserving of sympathy -- even in death. "Against terrorism," reads a banner permanently appended to the on-screen broadcast of the CBC network, unsubtly aimed at the Brotherhood.

The military offered up its own press conference on Monday afternoon to explain why 51 citizens lay dead in the street. The spokesman said Morsy's supporters had attempted to storm the guards' compound using shotguns and Molotov cocktails. Others threw rocks and debris on the guards from above, he explained, and soldiers had no choice but to respond with lethal force.

The story was problematic. Dozens of witnesses, including some not associated with the protesters, told reporters that violence began when soldiers and riot police fired tear gas to break up the sit-in and quickly began firing birdshot and bullets. Those who had been praying said the attack began suddenly, without provocation. Various survivors gave consistent statements. Doctors and journalists said the majority of the fatal gunshot wounds struck their victims from behind, as if they had been praying or fleeing. The military failed to produce any photographs or videos showing the initial alleged attack. The few they did provide showed two Morsy supporters responding later, during street battles after sunrise, with homemade pistols. The New York Times reported that the policeman who died was a local officer who had likely been shot by the military while hiding in his car, as they fired at protesters.

There was clear evidence that soldiers had pursued the protesters far beyond the sit-in. By midday, troops had erected a barbed-wire barricade some thousand feet up a road leading to the primary pro-Morsy protest at the Rabaa el-Adaweya Mosque. Far beyond the barricade, protesters showed reporters blood stains on the street. A car and food kiosk in a nearby intersection were both pocked with bullet holes, as were lamp posts even farther up the road. Video circulated by the Freedom and Justice Party showed a police officer, in daylight, firing a shotgun at protesters as military riot police with batons advanced, as well as what appeared to be a soldier atop a nearby Defense Ministry building firing shots from an assault rifle down at the crowd.

Mostafa Sharawy, a doctor who had arrived shortly after 5 a.m. to assist in a field hospital, said he had only come in time to see one casualty -- a man shot in the back. A bespectacled, thickly bearded young man who gave his name only as Mustafa and whose t-shirt and pants were covered in dried blood said he had been at the prayer, participating peacefully, when the sit-in was attacked.

But the bloodshed seemed to sway few opinions in an environment where both sides have become unbending and entrenched. After citing a raft of problems they faced securing the country after the 2011 uprising, neither the military or Interior Ministry's spokesmen mentioned how many of Morsy's supporters had been killed or wounded on Monday. (According to the Health Ministry, at least 51 died and more than 300 were wounded. The Brotherhood claimed the death count had reached 70.) No member of the Egyptian press corps challenged the military's narrative of the violence. When he adjourned the press conference, he was applauded.

On Monday afternoon, in a side street near the ongoing face-off between Morsy supporters and the military, a lawyer who gave his name only as Mahmoud and said he worked in the neighborhood and watched as an eighth-floor office was slowly eaten by flames. Protesters claimed thugs had set it alight after seeing military personnel filming or firing from its windows. Other video suggested that Morsy supporters may have taken a position on top of the building, raising the possibility that a tear gas canister had started the fire. As Mahmoud looked on, four employees of the company that occupied the office space sat on a bench, observing the fire forlornly.

Mahmoud said he felt no sadness for the dozens of Morsy supporters who had died that morning.

"They started this. I wish the army would come and clear them all out," he said.

Mahmoud claimed that a friend who lived in a nearby street overlooking the Rabaa el-Adaweya sit in had seen a minibus full of weapons being stockpiled by the Brotherhood. He didn't have a picture to support the claim.

"They came and attacked the military with shotguns and Molotovs. What do you expect the army to do? They responded with automatic weapons," Mahmoud said. "They wanted to provoke a response. The only thing they have left is international sympathy."