#23
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May 3, 1982
Thirty Thousand Egyptians are marching peacefully towards the city center. Pushing against them is Terrence Lowe (foreign correspondent, New York Times), Piers Antoine (freelance photographer), as well as their guide. The guide catches sight of Abou Elela Mady, a rising star in the National Unity Movement, and one of the main figures in the alliance between the moderate factions of the Muslim Brotherhood and the broader secular coalition. Lowe thanks his guide and approaches Mady, just 29 years old.
“Mr. Mady?”
“Mr. Lowe, good afternoon.”
“Sorry we’re late. Your people didn’t give me much warning.”
“We never get much warning these days. We must be opportunistic with our actions.”
“So this is unplanned?”
“Not exactly. We try always to be ready to take advantage of whatever the day presents to us. But this specifically came together with about five hours warning.”
The Jihadis were the reason they were able to march. A much more violent form of protest was under way to the northeast, led by some firebrand cleric, drawing the attention of the police. It was a strange irony that they relied so directly on the actions of their enemies to express their own political will. But the National Unity Movement was growing faster than the leadership could keep up. These growing pains meant the movement was better served by avoiding significant confrontation for the moment. That didn’t mean trouble wouldn’t find them, and walking up to the edge of trouble was almost necessary for any meaningful dissent.
“In that case it’s a very impressive turnout.”
“We can have ten thousand people ready to march with an hour’s notice. Give us a day and it would be a hundred thousand.”
“Really?”
“My people are very motivated, Mr. Lowe.”
“I’m excited to learn about your movement. Can we speak for a minute about the interview process?”
“Of course.”
“As requested I submitted a list of topics to your assistant. And when we have a chance to sit down in a calmer setting, I hope we’ll hold the more formal interview. But at times like this I feel it’s more productive to keep the conversation flowing and natural. If you want something off the record, please tell me. If you don’t want to answer a question, voice your concerns, I won’t be offended. If I push you, please understand it’s the nature of my profession and I hope you will not be offended.”
“Yes, very good. I think we both understand the process.”
“So what prompted you to march today?”
“Our message is never-changing. The government must respond to the will of the people. And the people want Sadat. We in the Brotherhood have heard their message, and though we disagree with many of his policies, we respect their will and are here to support it.”
“I understand your organization recently suffered a schism.”
“It was unfortunate, but some of our former Brethren forgot that we were an organization committed to promoting our principles through a democratic framework. Their commitment to God is admirable, but their interpretation is, we feel, being manipulated by outside forces.”
“Has this strengthened your position in the organization?”
“My Brethren have blessed me with increased responsibilities, and our allies here in the National Unity Movement have likewise welcomed our increased contribution. But I’d rather talk about the movement as a whole. My role in it is inconsequential next to the strength of our united desire for change.”
“This is where I’m still a little confused, because I understand you come from an organization that has long been calling for change. But many other people in the NUM are here primarily in support of Sadat. How do you reconcile this?”
“As I said, we respect the will of the people. We don’t deny that we’ve had arguments in the past with how Sadat has done things. But we believe he can be a reasonable man, an actor of good-faith as you’d put it. And we are worried that this emergency government is just a coup in slow-motion.”
“So will you go on record that you believe Sadat is being kept prisoner?”
Lowe knows this is a touchy subject. Goading the government about the exact state of Sadat- his health, whether or not he’s being held against his will in his compound- has prompted the most violent crackdowns of the recent troubles.
“Let me say this: It has been months since he's woken up and still there is no sign of him in public. The generals could assuage the worst fears of the Egyptian people on this matter simply by allowing Sadat to speak to us. Television, radio, whatever. Of course even then there’s no way to really be certain until he’s back in office. Yet we never see Sadat or hear him; why is this, do you think?”
It was well dodged. Lowe continued. “And how would you summarize the goals of the National Unity Movement?”
“We want the government to realize the voice of the people is an asset in the governance of the country. We want Sadat- and even the generals for the time being- to see us as an ally in making Egypt strong. We think increased representation is the-”
A man with a portable transceiver runs up and speaks in Arabic.
“Abou!”
“Police?”
“Military.”
“On the move?”
“Just blocking the main roads Downtown. Just a squadron each on some roads.”
Mady turns to Lowe and explains the situation to him.
“You see, they’re getting spread thin. But that means they’ll be nervous. We won’t test them today.” He turns back to the man with the radio. “Are they blocking El Tahrir?”
“No, but we’d be skirting their position pretty close.”
“Omar!”
Another man approaches.
“Tell your people we’re heading for Tahrir Square. There will be soldiers close by. They’re to be treated respectfully. No one is to engage with them, even verbally, do you hear me?”
“I’ll spread the word.”
“Should I even bother warning you that this might get dangerous, Mr. Lowe?”
Lowe smiles and gestures at his photographer.
“Why do you think Piers wanted to come along?”
----
May 12, 1982
The Egyptian Gazette
Headline: ALEXANDRIA RELIEVED
Subhead: Jihadi Rebels Pushed into Western Desert
Photo Caption: Defense Minister Ghazala salutes the troops on his visit to Alexandria.
----
May 13, 1982
Mohamed Abd al-Halim Abu Ghazala has been pulled out of a meeting to take a phone call from Dr. Sidrak.
“What is it doctor, my time is not my own.”
“Sir! He’s gone!”
Ghazala takes a moment to comprehend, and in the silence, Dr. Sidrak continues.
“They’re all gone, sir! Sadat! They took him!”
“Who took him, doctor?”
“Soldiers, sir. Some from inside, some in trucks.”
“Trucks? Did you see any officers?”
“I don’t know, sir, I was resting in my room and I think they must’ve forgotten I was there. He’s been limiting my visits for days.”
“Stick to what’s important, damn you. How long ago did this happen?”
“Perhaps an hour? They cut the phone lines and left. I hid for a while, then went looking for a telephone. There were...at least three trucks that I saw, perhaps several more. The captain you put in charge, he called some of the men from the perimeter, I saw him. He took their weapons with the help of some other men.”
“Some of the men posted to guard him were a part of this?”
“I think so, sir. The trucks were already waiting outside the compound when this happened. I didn’t see the president leave, but he must have.”
Ghazala hangs up and suppresses the urge to blaspheme. An hour. Sadat could be in the city by now. He had to think quickly. Who could he trust? First, admit that you don’t really know. You thought you could trust the men guarding Sadat, but clearly not. A gamble then. Either throw the dice now or flee the country.
----
June 1, 1982
The US ambassador to Egypt is being briefed by the CIA on the security situation.
“First thing’s first: please don’t tell me we need to evacuate.”
“Actually, sir, it’s safer here than it’s been in months. The Jihadis have been routed from the city and Sadat has control over this and all surrounding governorates. And we gauge the danger of air strikes to be very small.”
“What about the NUM?”
“Sadat’s meeting with them. They’ve got their own base of support now, and they’re offering to throw it his way. We’ve got advance word on a speech he’s going to be delivering either today or tomorrow. Announcing reforms after the current crisis is over. Whether or not he delivers is another story, but for now we like what we’re hearing.”
“Reforms? Democratic?”
“On the surface. It might all just be for appearances, but from a pure security perspective that still counts as a win.”
“So what’s the military situation look like outside of Cairo?”
“Messy. The jihadists are holding on in the south and raiding from the direction of the Western Desert. We suspect Gaddafi is aiding them at this point.”
“What about Sadat’s position?”
“It’s not as strong as we would like. Basically, Sadat’s in Cairo. Ghazala’s in Alexandria and also has the loyalty of some of the southern garrisons. There was heavy fighting in the Sinai initially, but it’s died down now, and Sadat’s faction now has firm control there. The UN stepped up its presence and neither side wanted to risk drawing them in, so the rebels withdrew.”
“Thank god. The Israelis would drop ten kinds of hell on the place if they felt threatened.”
“Otherwise, it’s a mess. Several garrisons haven’t made a move for one side or the other, waiting to see how everyone else jumps. Other than the battles along the two main highways between Alexandria and Cairo, there’s been little besides skirmishing across the country for the past few days. Even on the highways things seem to be moving at half speed. The army is understandably reluctant to attack...well...itself.”
----
June 10, 1982
Western Egypt
The ragged column of vehicles pushes west, unmolested by the military for the time being. The soldiers of the Western Desert, mostly loyal to Ghazala and the generals, are husbanding their resources, not totally sure of resupply- a sign of the uncertainty surrounding Egypt.
The convoy is mostly regular civilian vehicles, with a few stolen military trucks and some converted technicals thrown into the mix. Every so often the column halts, a council of triage forming. A few more cars are abandoned, those least suited to the journey. Their gas siphoned, their passengers redistributed. Then onward again.
It’s the middle of the night by the time they reach their rendezvous, still in Egyptian territory, about 20 km north of Siwa. The local Berbers have been paid well to guide them across the desert tracks and into Libya. Captain Maziq of the Armed Forces of the Libyan Arab Jamahiriya is here to make sure they stick to the agreement.
The meeting is lit by nothing more than headlights, and then on the horizon a speckle of strobing lights can be seen, followed not long after by a distant rumble. Sadat’s people are bombing the rebel air base, Maziq realizes. Rebel. Is that right? If Ghazala’s people are the rebels, what does that make these men here?
He stands apart from the two groups as they meet, Berbers and Jihadis, playing no official part in this operation until the column crosses to the other side. Still, the leader of the Jihadis raises a hand in greeting, and he returns it.
Under his breath, he says, “Welcome to Libya, brothers. Don’t get too comfortable. You’ll be coming back soon.”