4th of July

Sorry! This was written after July 4, 2012, but some technical trouble prevented it from getting posted. Better late than never:

Greetings, and happy 4th of July everyone. I was fortunate enough to have attended the 4th of July celebration at the U.S. Embassy in Cairo. It was a great way to cap my six month stay in Cairo; I chatted with friends and other guests, and made a few contacts. I could not help but feel a certain sense of awe during the event, however. Just how does it come to pass that a group of Americans, Egyptians and diplomats and dignitaries of other nationalities unite in the singing of Sweet Caroline a few blocks from Tahrir Square?

Ambassador Anne Patterson made formal remarks partway through the event. She began her remarks with famous lines from the American Declaration of Independence:

“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed.” 

Ambassador Patterson went on to touch on some achievements of the U.S., but more importantly, she highlighted our challenges. I posted the above quotation to my Facebook this morning, and was quickly challenged by a friend who insisted we add a disclaimer that Jefferson’s words do not currently apply to minorities, women and other persecuted groups. America is not perfect. The democratic experiment is not complete; if we ever consider that experiment complete, we’d be fools. The United States was built on the precept that hard work yields a tomorrow better than the today, that continued toil by the forebears paves the way for greater achievements by successors. Whether that applies to science, economic growth, political liberty or the well-being of one’s family, that value permeates American society. This drive has almost always yielded us better tomorrows. We will always have our challenges, but Americans and our society have evolved and triumphed repeatedly when beset with perils that have destroyed other nations. It has taken 236 years for our fledgling democracy to develop into the robust system it is today. 

More importantly, Ambassador Patterson noted how long it has taken us to get this far. To a room full of Egyptian government officials, businessmen and socialites, she gave a stark truth: democracy can fail. Egypt has not yet made a full transition, and its democratic institutions may not develop into what older democracies consider adequate within our lifetimes. The important thing is that they try, and through hard work achieve a better tomorrow. The Ambassador ended her address by saying that if Egyptians were willing to confront their challenges, Americans would “roll up their sleeves” and join them in the effort. 

There are so many good things about America. That people of disparate backgrounds can find common pleasure in something like Sweet Caroline playing beneath red, white and blue banners is a testament to this fact. Yet the sand-colored, reinforced concrete barriers and legions of security guards present speak to the fact that many still cannot tolerate us. I would like to believe that with enough public diplomacy, we can solve almost any problem. Diplomacy is increasingly shifting from state-to-state interaction to people-to-people interaction. However, so long as there remain structural reasons that cause hate by making people vulnerable, like poverty, war, discrimination and persecution, then public diplomacy will only go so far. Perhaps someday, when Egypt is a full democracy and such problems are diminished, we can sing together in Tahrir rather than hiding in what Egyptians refer to as “the American Fortress.”

Jaded

                                              al-Jazeera image of a protest at Tahrir Square

This post is long overdue.  Though a lot has happened in two months, nothing has stood out as particularly worthwhile to discuss.  Until now.  Events during the final days of the Egyptian elections between felool, or regime remnant, candidate Ahmed Shafiq and Mohamed Morsi, of the Muslim Brotherood-backed Freedom and Justice Party, have caused me to contemplate my feelings during these past months, and whether it is right for a diplomat to have them.

I found a place to work in Cairo until after the proposed transfer of power in Egypt from the military government to the civilian administration.  I arrived in Cairo at the very end of 2011 after applying to the American University amidst the media coverage of crackdowns by Central Security Forces on protestors in Tahrir and long bouts of street fighting on Mohamed Mahmoud Street.  My parents and friends were worried, but I was hopeful.  SCAF and the Muslim Brotherhood, the largest opposition organization, were in agreement and wanted to go ahead with parliamentary elections.  I came to Cairo amidst those elections, and unrest settled down like I predicted.  Though many people were alarmed by the strong showing of Islamist candidates, this past semester has been fairly peaceful when compared to the turbulent year prior.

As the semester progressed, I lost focus.  I forgot my political science training that said that incumbent authoritarian powers do everything they can to retain power.  I forgot my history background that said that men like the consuls before Caesar and statesman like George Washington, who would readily give up enormous personal power for the greater benefit of humanity, are few and far between.  I took comfort when my government said SCAF wanted nothing more than to go back to their barracks.  I dared to hope that genuine change was occurring while I was here.  Official election results have not been announced yet, but I am already beginning to doubt that dream.

I do not think of myself as an idealist, and gladly leave that moniker to others.  I believe there are times when actions of ill repute are the best recourse, though others may hate it.  Pleasing everyone at the expense of your own success and security is a losing battle.  I also believe, however, that no one should make a show of their disregard for others or revel in self-righteousness.  We are all joined in common humanity, if not by national or ethnic ties. 

My personal conflict at the moment stems from my empathies for the Egyptian people and my concerns over regional stability and national interest.  Egyptians desire free and fair elections to determine a government that will finally work for them.  The Failed State Index recently ranked Egypt 31st out of more than 150 countries listed.  Egypt has infrastructure and the government effectively maintains a monopoly on force, but it has utterly failed to provide a system that protects the rights of its citizens.  A democratic transition could change that by making officials genuinely beholden to the selectorate.  However, the Muslim Brotherhood is a group that has previously espoused violence and desires to implement sharia law as the basis for its legislation.  It remains unclear how that will impact minorities like women, Copts, Jews, foreigners, and even Shi’a and Sufis.  The peace treaty with Israel, a substantial cause of the dramatic decline in inter-state warfare in the region since the mid-1970’s, could come under fire.  The U.S. would also lose what was previously a staunch ally against extremism in the region. 

In short, do I side with what is best for the people or best for the interests of my country?  As a diplomat, I should always do the latter, but I feel that, as a human being, I should do the former where I am able.

The recent suspension of the democratically-elected Parliament, reports of voter fraud coming from election monitors, postponing the official announcing of results, and statements and rallies by both sides insisting they are victorious have brought things to a climax that could prove a powderkeg.  If the Supreme Election Committee announces an Ahmed Shafiq victory, whether genuinely earned or fixed, Mohamed Morsi and his supporters may make good on their claim that there will be “blood in the streets.”  If Morsi is announced the winner, it is unclear how the military deep-state will interact with an administration filled with members they had spent the better part of three decades repressing and imprisoning. 

A diplomat’s job is to work with whomever is in charge of the country they are posted to.  The beliefs I mentioned above may not always lead to moral outcomes, but I believe that the U.S. often tries for net positive outcomes.  There is no telling how the new administration will turn out, but how do diplomats handle change? How can diplomats swallow their beliefs when interacting with a government built on lies or, even worse, murder?  How do they go on when a toppled government was a friend and the new one becomes a foe?  How do they cope with wasted financial, political, and emotional investment in a country when a regime may change but the people living there have not?

Whatever the outcome of this election, those questions remain unanswered for me.  

A Difficult Question

I did not intend for this to be the first post on the blog, but a recent event has caused me to think long and hard on what I study and how I interact with others.  That’s what this is for.

I am currently studying in Egypt.  Yesterday, I went with a friend who studies refugee studies to a center run by his department.  He teaches English there every Tuesday.  After my experience during those three hours, I’ve decided that I'll be going to help him for the rest of the semester.  I had a lot of fun.

But it also made me think.  A lot. 

The people at the class were a great bunch.  However, structure is difficult.  The refugee center is in a poor part of town.  Only a few students consistently come to the lesson, though the room is nearly always full of those that want to watch.  When few of the regulars make it, moving forward in the lesson only to repeat it later makes little sense.  Yesterday was one of those days, and the instructors encouraged the attendees to ask questions of us to practice conversational English. 

My friend ran for political office and I study political science.  More people abroad understand what political science is than at home.  It was one of the first words I learned in Arabic.  When the refugees learned these facts, the floodgates opened.

We talked about families, living arrangements, what a forest is, the history and geography of the U.S., whether the U.S. had rivers, how states differed from each other, how to become a U.S. citizen, how many people live in the U.S., and the structure of the U.S. government.  The questions grew more political after most of the audience was satiated and some wanted us to compare/contrast governments of different countries.  As students in a country experiencing a level of uncertainty, we were uncomfortable speaking our minds.  I drew vague diagrams of government structure for a couple countries that seemed to satisfy the audience without saying anything that could be considered criticism.

There were a few questions that really had an impact on me.

One question made me very proud:

"If America has more than 300 million people, why do more people want to go there? Isn't it crowded?”

My friend explained how the U.S. is a chance to begin anew, and how our whole history has been founded, in a way, on immigration.

I got to say "My mother was a refugee." 

I don't know what these people have been through.  We aren't allowed to ask where they're from; it invokes powerful emotions.  The program works with people from Somalia, Eritrea, the Ivory Coast, and Iraq, among others.  Looking at the audience, when I said my mother was a refugee, the expressions on some of their faces, I don't even know how to describe it.  For them to see me, an American who goes to university, who travels, who studies what he wants, and who loves the United States, be the son of a refugee, I think they read a lot into that about how America is, in a very positive way.  I don't know how else to describe it. 

Another question made me profoundly sad: 

This was during a break, so only a few of the refugees were in the room.  One man in the back of the room, dressed in a galibayya with a white traditional cap, was very intelligent and informed about the world.  He began talking about stability and how governments change in bad ways.  I asked him whether he meant like what happened in Mali this week and he nodded.  I wrote “coup d'etat” on the board, and the room got quiet.  The man asked,

"Why do coups happen in Africa, but not in the U.S.?"

How can you possibly answer that in simple English to someone whose whole life has been shaken to pieces? How do you look someone in the eye, who has experienced more than you can imagine, and explain why the powerful act as they do? I tried to give him an answer one-on-one because I wasn't comfortable talking about it with everyone.  I told him that in the U.S., the law is stronger than man and the military upholds the law.  In other places, men are stronger than the law and the military supports them.  It didn't feel right, and he looked sad.  Later, I remembered the Greek philosopher-historian Thucydides, who unwittingly founded the realist school of International Relations Theory by boiling politics down to "the powerful do what they can." That's the truth, but does knowing that make pointless suffering hurt any less? 

Though I study politics, the actions of people are often difficult to understand.  I will never understand politics completely.  In hindsight, I feel the answer I gave the man was not very good, and even if I wrote many pages on it, the answer would not be a better one.  Experts try to explain why things happen, but often explanations do not bring meaning to events that have taken personal tolls.  The question highlighted the difference between meanings and explanations.  A meaning takes on feeling, while an explanation is often limited to words. 

A coup could be interpreted as one group of people overthrowing another group of people to gain control of something.  In Mali’s case, this was a country.  But what a coup means is displacement, terror and sorrow. 

I feel that was an important distinction to learn.