Voice of a Vigilante

Saturday, January 29, was a day that all Egyptians will likely remember. It was one day after the Friday of Anger, one of the consequences of which was the withdrawal of the police force from the streets, leaving behind unattended arms and unguarded prisons. Early that day, it seemed to me that the people came out victorious from the fierce battle the night before ­— central security forces had been overwhelmed by the masses and this ultimately meant that the state’s iron fist was beginning to crack. But by the early afternoon, this sense of glory was quickly replaced by fear and panic. Rumors and stories of armed mobs going on looting sprees, raiding houses and even killing people started to spread. Eyewitness accounts started to emerge from the neighborhoods of Mohandiseen, Maadi, Kattameya, Al Rehab and Nasr City. By 3pm, I was on my street armed with a metal chain, waiting for the confrontations to hit Heliopolis. Around five or six men from each building on my block joined me armed with whatever they could get their hands on: clubs, knives, chains, machetes and even firearms. For us, the first hour or so was pure confusion; nobody really knew what to expect and what to do. By the second hour, we heard the sound of gunfire inching closer and closer. This forced us to organize ourselves and come up with a defensive plan. Our neighborhood watch was born. We started by setting up roadblocks to stop any vehicles from driving into the neighborhood. Every intersection was blocked with empty barrels, tree trunks and concrete blocks. When none of these were available, people parked their cars sideways. Initially, the word on the street was to look out for anyone riding a motorcycle. But by nightfall, that quickly changed. The types of vehicles to keep an eye out for grew to include pickup trucks, ambulances and police cars; at one point, even fire trucks were rumored to be engaging in sporadic shooting. Just in case confrontations took place, we decided that it would be wise for each of us to wear a white bandana around our arms so we wouldn’t confuse neighbors with intruders. We later discovered that this bright idea was adopted by half of Cairo’s neighborhood watches. An early warning system was also put into place using the mosque’s minarets, which served as not only a great lookout tower but also a broadcast system where we could use the loudspeakers typically used for the call to prayer to notify the neighborhood watch of threats. To say that our first night was eventful would be an understatement. Two sedans kept roaming the neighborhood trying to shoot their way in, but they did not stop. We eventually caught three thugs on a motorcycle as they tried to break through the barricade. A sedan refused to stop at the checkpoint; instead, it pulled a reverse 180 turn and sped off in an attempt to escape. Of course, there was a hysterical amount of gunfire by everyone. Having never experienced such direct threats before and only knowing the sound of gunfire from movies, I can honestly say that Saturday night was one of the most intense and stressful nights of my life. The situation gradually calmed down over the days that followed. Rumors became less frequent but more bizarre. One particular rumor was that some foreigners had been distributing poisoned food to civilians at checkpoints — a clear attempt to renew the anxiety. All this fear and panic was not without gains. For me, it was how we all pooled together to protect one another. I met my neighbors, some for the first time, which renewed a sense of community that had long been missing. Most importantly, however, it rendered the plan to try and terrorize the people useless. So we did win that night, after all.