Alexandria Re-Imagined: The Revolution through Art

New Article Submission

Thank you for your interest in Jadaliyya. We welcome all submissions. The most significant requirement is for Jadaliyya submissions to be analytically compelling and offer a perspective or argument that has not been covered at length either on Jadaliyya or elsewhere. Because of the volume of submissions, well-written pieces are prioritized. Length is flexible, 1000 to 2500 words is the average range. However, we will accept longer pieces. Once submitted, several members of the editorial committee will review your piece and one of them will inform you of the decision.
Author Details
Article Details
Select Countries
Select Keywords
Select Topics
Only RTF, Word, and Pages documents accepted.

Recommended image size: 762x800 px

Location of each image should be indicated in the text of the article via a square bracket caption that includes: (1) a description of the image; (2) the photographer/designer and source of the image. Please note we only use images you as the author have the right to use, which usually means those of your own creation or those published under Creative Commons. Alternatively, you need specific permission from the copyright holder.
Please read the Release Form and provide an electronic signature [your full name] below to confirm that you accept its terms
Required
Hyperlink words in your article if they refer to links on the internet. We encourage more, rather than less, links (try to avoid footnotes—embed them as hyperlinks if possible)

Article added successfully.

Pages Menu BETA
Jan 25, 2013 Egypt
[Revolutionary martyrs painted on walls of Alexandria. Photo by Amro Ali] [Revolutionary martyrs painted on walls of Alexandria. Photo by Amro Ali]

Alexandria Re-Imagined: The Revolution through Art

By : Amro Ali

On 24 January 2011 – a day before the arc of Egyptian history would be altered – the film Microphone was screened. Microphone documents Alexandria’s pre-revolution underground scene of artists and musicians fighting a passive oppression that suffocates their ability to nurture their creativity. Khaled (played by Khaled Abol Naga), who has returned to Egypt from the US, wishes to aid the youth by providing them with a venue and funding for nurturing their talents. In one scene, Khaled is conversing with an official at the state’s cultural office to request support for his project. The dialogue proceeds as follows:

Official: What is this graffiti? Is our role to pollute the walls or to clean them?

Khaled: “Graffiti is an art, the whole world acknowledges it. We have to encourage the youth in their pursuits”

Official: “Is this not transgression against people and properties, and visual pollution?

Khaled: “What about the campaign posters littered around the country’s walls, isn’t that visual pollution as well?”

Official: “No, that is something and this is something else. Election campaigning is part of our democratic process”

To the dumbfound look of Khaled who - frustrated enough by red tape  - now is expected to digest a bureaucrat’s talk of “democracy” in Hosni Mubarak`s Egypt 

Prior to the revolution, Alexandria’s walls were largely Soviet-esqe and barren. Artists who did attempt to paint the walls, like Aya Tarek (featured in the film) and Amr Ali (not the author of this piece), were often stopped by the police or reported by onlookers suspicious of their novel activity. Fatma Hendawy, a curator who started on the street scene before the revolution, notes that one way to circumvent these obstacles was to go through the Goethe Institute to use its diplomatic muscle to define joint German-Egyptian art projects. Yet as Fatma laments, such institutes inadvertently stump your creativity in order to cater to their bilateral agendas.

In the months following the 2011 Revolution, I took to cataloguing the artwork that blossomed and inspired me to believe that the public space was gradually being reclaimed by society. I am no artist; however, I take the position of the “public” and write on the art in the context of the socio-political dynamics and nuances that influence societal perceptions of street art. Specifically, this essay attempts to tell the story of the past two years purely through artwork from the streets of Alexandria. For Cairo, I highly recommend the large collection of Suzee Morayef who, on her blog, offers great analyses on street art that is prolific through the capital’s streets. Also Mona Abaza, professor of sociology at the American University in Cairo, has penned brilliant pieces on the artistic narration of the revolution.

Triumph Over the Pharaoh (Early 2011)

The stepping down of President Hosni Mubarak gave way to a social euphoria that seeped into the street art that was governed by the mindset “The power of people is stronger than the people in power.”

\"\"
[From the Roushdy neighborhood of Alexandria: “25 January: the birthday of the Egyptian People.” 
Shoes being thrown at Mubarak. Photo by Amro Ali]

\"\"

[Roushdy: Revolutionary motifs. “Egyptian and proud.” Photo by Amro Ali]

\"\"
[A tank bearing “Freedom.” Such pro-military slogans are something the revolutionary camp would live to regret.
But pro-military feelings were so strong during the first half of 2011 with an often rebuttal: “The army is us, they
would never betray us.” Later distinctions were made between army and the military council. Photo by Amro Ali]

 \"\"
[“Youth’s Revolution”: The youth felt they had ownership over this revolution,
and everything was made to classify it as such. Photo by Amro Ali]

\"\"
[From Alexandria’s Stanley neighborhood: “The People,” the eternal cry of the revolutionary
voice that would follow it up with “Demand the fall of [insert your current oppressor here].”
Photo by Amro Ali]

\"\"
[From Stanley: “The Martyr screams, where are my rights oh country.” The man’s image is
inspired by a 2006 torture video of a bus driver, Imad El-Kabir. Photo by Amro Ali]

\"\"
[From Alexandria’s neighborhood of Smouha: Late Egyptian President Gamal Abdel Nasser’s famous line:
“Lift your head oh brother.” It is unusual that Nasser is painted over the very monarchical flag he did away with.
However, it also reflects Alexandria’s relation to both. The city’s middle and upper-middle classes have had,
anecdotally, a strong fondness for the pre-1952 Egypt more than any other Egyptian population center.
However, Nasser was born in the Alexandrian outskirt of Bacus, and his economic policies gave him
a strong loyal following in working class districts. Photo from Alexandria Graffiti Facebook page]

\"\"
[From Alexandria’s neighborhood of Mahtet el-Raml: Drawn on the walls surrounding the Italian consulate,
painting shows an exchange between an Egyptian and a foreigner. “Egyptian: How’s your salary overseas? 
Foreigner: We get $3000/month + $500 “instead of” [“badal” or allowance for] meals + $1000 instead of health insurance.
I make a total of $4500/month. Egyptian: After the revolution I make 700 Egyptian pounds. 
Foreigner: And these are “instead of” what?? Egyptian: These are instead of me becoming a bum!”
Photo and translation by Tariq Fahmy]

The Dawn of A New Era (Early- to Mid-2011)

Once upon a time in Alexandria’s Stanely area, there stood a beautiful mural facing the sea dedicated to the key figures of the revolution. It was painted by students from the College of Fine Arts, and to me it magnificently captured the hopes and aspirations of Egypt’s youth. The faces of the martyrs told a story that they did not die in vain. I often felt this art was too good to be true, and that it faced two primary enemies. The first is human censorship, and the second being nature’s censorship, namely the salt from the sea that tends to erode the paint. The former came quickly enough. Fatma tells me that all of a sudden in early 2012, the owners of the place on which this mural was painted did not like it anymore. But she points to something deeper than that. Their decision came a few months after the posting of a new chief of security directorate for Alexandria. This is when the security forces started to regain their composure after being knocked off balance during the 2011 eighteen-day uprising. Fatma says “He [the new chief] wanted to control the streets again, and painting over it was to send a strong message to the artists and intellectuals: ‘Don’t dream too high.’”

\"\"
[From Alexandria’s neighborhood of Stanley: Khaled Saeed, Egypt’s “chief martyr” and the spark of
revolution, as part of a mural with other key figures. Photo from Alexandria Graffiti Facebook page]

\"\"
[Revolutionary martyrs. Photo by Amro Ali]

\"\"
[From Alexandria’s neighborhood of Stanley: Revolutionary martyr, Ahmed Bassiouni. Photo by Amro Ali]

\"\"
[From Roushdy: “Free for Ever.” The word freedom (in Arabic or English) 
was the most commonly used word on walls. Photo by Amro Ali]

\"\"
[From Stanley: “Egypt is the mother of the World” a reassertion of national
pride after years of Mubarak’s lackluster performance. Photo by Amro Ali]

The Alexandrinization of Public Space

Alexandrian artists are heavily influenced by the legacy of the city’s two brothers Adham and Seif Wanely. whose paintings of “daily life in Alexandria, the sea, the fishermen`s boats, and the beauty of streets and squares” helped to nurture an Alexandrian identity. More so, the prominent artist Mahmoud Said (1897-1921), who heralded from an aristocratic Alexandrian family, was at the forefront of painting different layers of Alexandrian society. The post-revolution’s art scene saw various Alexandrian motifs painted by the experienced and less so.

\"\"
[From Stanley: A Roman soldier, symbolizing the city’s Greco-Roman heritage,
is painted between “Freedom” and “25 Jan,” and above “Alexandria.”
Photo by Amro Ali]

\"\"
[From East Alexandria: An unfinished painting of a ship bearing the Egyptian colors.
Ships and sea are some of the most common paintings seen around Alexandria, given their
primary historical and cultural association with the city.
Photo from Alexandria Graffiti Facebook page]

\"\"
[From Alexandria’s neighborhood of Ibrahmeya: A boat is painted on a tunnel entrance for pedestrians.
The boat also directly faces the sea. Photo from Alexandria Graffiti Facebook page]

\"\"
[From Stanley: Citadel of Qaitbay stands between a Church and a Mosque. The city (as much as the rest of the country)
was traumatized following the bombing of the Church of the Saints in Sidi Bishr at the start of 2011.
Muslim-Christian unity themes became a common sight around the city. Photo by Amro Ali]

\"\"
[Kamp Shezar: The close proximity to sea (ten meters away) and Citadel of Qaitbay painted in the
background give the impression of an Egyptian mermaid protruding her head out of the bay. Photo by Amro Ali]

\"\"
[Alexandria’s neighborhood of Cleopatra Hamamat: In his home district, there is no shortage of
Khaled Saeed images. This one paints a more respectable citizen.
Photo from Alexandria Graffiti Facebook page]

“De-Friending” the Status Quo: Internalizing Social Media

Social media formed a crucial component of youth identity that it was elevated, if not deified, to synchronize with the youth revolution discourse.

\"\"
[From Stanley: Inspired by a man unfurling a paper of social media icons during the revolution. Photo by Amro Ali]

\"\"
[From Roushdy: Google featuring Alexandrian Sayed Darwish, the father of Egyptian popular music. Photo by Amro Ali]

\"\"
[From Roushdy: Facebook icon. Photo Amro Ali]

Seeking A De-SCAFinated Egypt: The Army and People Are No Longer One Hand (October 2011 – June 2012)

The October 2011 Maspero massacre hastened the demise of the people-military love affair. More so, the Mohamed Mahmoud clashes in November 2011 represented the heightened anti-military council protests.

\"\"
[“The thugs are the army.” Inspired by Carlos Lattuf cartoon. Photo from Alexandria Graffiti Facebook page]

Imagination Continues

As it stands, Alexandria’s public walls are covered more in soccer Ultras amateurish graffiti and sporadic anti-Muslim Brotherhood artwork. If one compared the street art scene in Cairo and Alexandria in 2011, the number of creative works, I argue, tilted in favor of the latter. Yet 2012 tilted in favor of the capital due to the key battlegrounds of Tahrir, Maspero, Abasiyya, Itihadiyya, and others, which have drawn artists to the capital to “wage war” with their paintbrushes. While in Tahrir, I asked a friend of mine, Alaa Awaad, a native of Mansoura (and makes regular journeys to Cairo from Luxor, where he teaches): “Does it not bother you that you paint during the day, then someone comes at night and desecrates your work?” His response was profound: “Let them do it. This only means I will come back and paint again. This revolution is ongoing.”

\"\"
[From Stanley and Cleopatra Hamamat: I often find Khaled Said’s iconic face to be a barometer of the public mood.
The above are different locations and different styles of painting of course. But the first (left) one gives a
progressive outlook to hope for a better future, the second (right) restores the struggling, revolutionary Khaled.
Photos by Amro Ali]

\"\"
[From East Alexandria: In this photo I snapped in early 2011, a passerby gives money to a beggar under the sign of freedom.
It is telling in that there is an Egypt that seeks freedom from repression, and another seeks freedom from poverty.
Photo by Amro Ali]

Fatma nicely captures the soul of the city’s artistic endeavors: “My dream is to deliver art to the people of Alexandria, not the elites. We need to break the myth that art is for high society. I feel I have achieved a bit of that dream. In the early days, the public would stop us in the street, very simple people, even street kids, asked if they could help. They saw beautiful colors for the first time and wanted to be part of it.”

As we enter the second anniversary of the revolution, Egypt needs to find a way to tell the art scene, “It is okay to dream too high."
Tags
Mar 22, 2012 Lebanon
Soraya Morayef By :
Soraya Morayef

The Seven Wonders of the Revolution

Around the corner from Tahrir Square, the heart of Egypt’s eighteen-day uprising, Mohamed Mahmud Street bears the scars of a turbulent political year in Egypt. The once-bustling street off of Tahrir Square has seen its share of violent battlefields--beginning with 28 January 2011 and ending with the February 2012 clashes following the Port Said massacre. The pavements that once carried students from the American University of Cairo (AUC), Lycee Francais and Deutsche Schule Der Borromaerinnen have witnessed dying protesters dragged to cover, and defenseless men and women shot in the eye or collapsing from tear gas asphyxiation—all at the hands of the Egyptian security forces.

Mohamed Mahmud Street has come to feel like the graveyard of the revolution, or, as Mona Abaza calls it, an “emerging memorial space”, where so many brave Egyptians have died over the past year. Today, the walls commemorate the martyrs, while taking note of the traitors. The AUC Library wall carries artist Ammar Abo-Bakr’s larger-than-life murals of martyrs Sheikh Emad Effat and General Mohamed al-Batran. Around the corner, artist Alaa Awad painted ancient figures in battle, women cowering, hyenas and rabid dogs fighting, and bulls butting horns.

 

\"\"
 

\"\"

 

\"\"
[On the AUC’s library wall, a mural of ancient figures and animals in battle by Alaa Awad represents the many violent protests and clashes that took place in the area.]

A giant three-headed serpent lines the wall of the Lycee Francais School. Three heads of military generals sprout out of its neck, and the serpent’s body is held up by military boots. 

\"\"
[This painting by Ammar Abo-Bakr of a massive SCAF-headed serpent lines the wall of the Lycee Francais.]

Further along, pharaonic calligraphy is scribbled all along the walls next to a resting mummy and a flying centaur.

\"\"
[Alaa Awad continues his pharaonic art with a replica of a pharaonic tomb’s mural. The artist draws most of his inspiration from the pharaonic art of Luxor, where he normally resides.]

Then an unfinished mural of Egyptians carrying gas cylinders on their heads finally leads to the much-talked about martyrs’ mural on the AUC wall.

\"\"
[In between the pharaonic murals and the martyrs’ murals, Hanaa al-Degham created this beautiful, still unfinished mural. The theme of gas cylinders is highly relevant given the constant reoccurrence of gas shortages in Egypt.]

Today, memories of the violence remain in the broken glass of the AUC’s third-floor windows, in the charred signs of the corner shops, in the hallow echoes of the abandoned street, and, of course, in the seven walls closing off the side streets along Mohamed Mahmud, namely Sherif, Farid, Mansour, Falaki, Yousef al-Guindy, Sheikh Rihan and Kasr al-Eini Streets. All these streets have all been blocked off by concrete slabs thanks to the ingenious strategy of the Supreme Council of Armed Forces (SCAF) to keep protesters away from the Ministry of Interior. Most of these walls were built after protests broke out on Mohamed Mahmud Street in early February 2012, where thousands of protesters, including Ahly Ultras soccer fans, demanded vengeance and retribution for the deaths of over 130 fans in Port Said stadium. 

For many observers, it is difficult to look at these walls without drawing parallels with the Occupied Territories and the Berlin Wall. In the Egyptian context, however, these walls have been built by our very own military regime, and it remains unclear whether they are trying to keep us out or lock themselves in. 

Today, the protests have subsided (for now) and the concrete walls remain. The persistent web of traffic around the maze of Mohamed Mahmud has left residents and commuters fuming with anger. With no clear end in sight, street artists have taken to the walls to counter SCAF’s imposing concrete blocks. 

On 9 March 2012, a group of artists and activists launched the “no walls” project to transform the seven walls into virtual open spaces. So far only six of the seven walls have been worked on by this large, eclectic group, which includes filmmaker Salma al-Tarzi and street artists Mohamed al-Moshir, Hossam Shukrallah, Hanaa al-Degham, Zeft, Amr Nazeer, Laila Maged, Ammar Abo-Bakr and Alaa Awad.

\"\"[“Tomorrow,” a mural painted by Zeft and collaborators on the wall of Mansour Street.]

Mansour Street was most recently the site of deadly clashes on 2 and 3 February 2012, when thousands of protesters flooded Tahrir and Mohamed Mahmud Street in response to the deaths of over 130 young Ahly soccer fans in Port Said. The wall was built in the aftermath of these clashes, and open electric cables lined the top of the wall to prevent protesters and pedestrians from crossing. Today, the wall displays a bright rainbow over shadows of individuals engaged in festive activities, a fervent exhibition of optimism on the site of tragic violence. Titled “Tomorrow” by graffiti artist Zeft, the mural is meant to give hope for the future despite the depressing realities.

\"\"
[A mural depicting Handala facing the Ministry of Interior]

On Farid Street, the wall facing the Ministry of Interior’s building now has a mural depicting the rest of the street with the figure of Handala holding up a sword to the building. Through this art, Handala breaks the barrier and confronts the menacing Ministry of Interior alone and unafraid. 

\"\"[Captured at night, this photo shows a mural fashioned as the hull of a boat. The artists’ discarded stencil papers lie nearby.]

On Falaki Street, the wall depicts two men painting what seems to be a boat and staring out through its boat windows. The image is whimsical, simplistic and visually transforms the other side of the wall into an open sea.

\"\"
[In the right lighting, this mural on the wall of Yousef al-Guindy Street creates a visual mirage.]

Salma al-Tarzy, Hossam Shukrallah and their collaborators “extended” Yousef al-Guindy Street by painting replicas of the trees that lie behind it and a man walking his son down the open street. The wall art attempts to restore a sense of normalcy to the probably emotionally exhausted residents of the street. 

\"\"
[This mural on Sheikh Rihan Street’s wall took over four days to be completed.]

On the other side of the AUC campus, Sheikh Rihan Street’s wall carries arguably the most powerful mural of them all. This painting was meticulously designed and planned by a group of artists, including Ammar Abo-Bakr, Mohamed al-Moshir, Laila Maged and their collaborators. The result is an almost perfect extension of Sheikh Rihan Street, complete with the AUC’s architecture and the arabesque details of its windows. 

A closer look will show astounding details, including the reflection in puddles of water and in the distance, teargas smoke, riot police aiming toward you, and protesters being dragged out of the AUC doors. The tiny details seem to re-enact the scenes of December 2011 clashes between military police and protesters. 

 

\"\"
[A mother and son pose for a photo in front of the mural.]

In the foreground on the right, a large man with a bright red chair over his head carries books. This is a tribute to the brave protesters who attempted to salvage books from the burning Scientific Building on 18 December 2011, while at the same time being attacked by military police personnel who were throwing rocks and Molotov cocktails from nearby rooftops. 

\"\"
[Ammar Abo-Bakr uses a real photograph to replicate the scene at the Sheikh Rihan Street wall.]

A small boy stands on a bike against the wall to peek through the cracks of the concrete blocks. Ammar Abo-Bakr used a photo of that same scene to recreate it on the mural. The result is a blending of memory with reality, where the barrier of the wall disappears between the child observer and the memories that haunt this street.

\"\"
[A landscape mural of Luxor by Alaa Awad and friends on Kasr al-Eini Street wall.]

On Kasr al-Eini’s wall, Alaa Awad painted a landscape of Luxor’s Western bank of the Nile and the words “Let us see the light of day.” 

\"\"
[Alaa Awad’s mural captured at sunset. Behind the wall, barbwires and idle military policemen fill the empty space]

Awad also wrote “There is no such thing as Le Description D’Egypte,” referring to the valuable original manuscript that was reportedly burned in the Scientific Institute. Today, the Scientific Building is slowly being reconstructed. 

During the eighteen-day Egyptian uprising, Tahrir Square was often referred to as a microcosm of Egyptian society – albeit a euphoric, romanticized version of it. When Hosni Mubarak was toppled, thousands of Egyptians took to the Square, where they swept the streets clean and painted the wall with nationalistic slogans. It was the first time that many felt a sense of ownership over this country, and believed that they would have an equal say in deciding upon Egypt’s future. 

Today, the impenetrable walls of Mohamed Mahmud represent SCAF’s reign over the past year, which has left the Egyptian citizen (quite literally) walled out and excluded. In this sense, the proliferation of street art is an attempt to reclaim ownership of the street. 

The “no walls” project and the other magnificent works of street art exemplify an effort to record and celebrate the history of Egypt’s continuing revolution, but the art has also filled a void where the Egyptian authorities have failed: paying tribute to the dead, holding the perpetrators accountable, demanding justice for the victims of a seriously flawed and corrupt judicial process, and restoring a sense of normalcy to this strange reality that we live in outside of the walls. These works of art reflect the resilience of a highly subversive revolutionary spirit that will not accept the realities that Egypt’s military rulers have imposed on Egyptians. Even at a moment when popular mobilization has become less visible in public squares and streets, Egypt’s revolution continues in street art—and in many other ways.