Alaa Al Aswany - Chicago

“We are not hypocrites. We actually love our president. Are you denying his historic leadership? Are you denying that Egypt under him has witnessed gigantic, unprecedented achievements?”

“Do you call corruption, poverty, unemployment, and subservience ‘achievements’?”

“Are you still a communist, Nagi? I thought you’d grown up and got wise. Listen, in this union there is no room for communism.

We are all, thank God, committed Muslims.”

“I am not a communist, and if you understand what it means, it is not a crime to be one.”

“Our revered president, whom you don’t like, took over a coun try burdened with chronic problems and, thanks to his wisdom and leadership, was able to steer it to safety.”

“These are lies of the ruling party. Actually more than half of all Egyptians live below the poverty line. In Cairo alone about four million people live in unplanned communities and shantytowns—”

He interrupted me loudly. “Even if you think there are negative aspects in the way our revered president rules, your religious duty mandates that you obey him.”

“Who said that?”

“Islam, if you are a Muslim. Sunni jurisprudents have unanimously agreed that it is the duty of Muslims to obey their rulers even if they are oppressive, so long as that ruler professes his faith and performs the prayers on time, because sedition arising from opposing the ruler is much more harmful to the Muslim nation than putting up with oppression.”

“This has nothing to do with Islam. This was fabricated by the sultan’s jurists, who used religion to shore up despotic regimes.”

“If you disagree with what I said, you would be contradicting the consensus of religious scholars and, by extension, denying established religion. Do you know what the punishment for that is?”

“Shall I tell him, Doctor?” volunteered a bearded young man sarcastically. Danana, laughing, looked at him gratefully and said, “There’s no need for that. Arguing with communists never ends. They are experts in useless debates. We have no time to waste. I am putting the matter to a vote. Everybody, do you agree to send a telegram of allegiance to our revered president? Please do so by show of hands.”

They all raised their hands without hesitation. Danana laughed sarcastically as he shot me a disdainful glance. “What do you think now?”

I didn’t answer and remained silent until the meeting came to an end. I noticed that my colleagues ignored me. I left hurriedly, saying, “Peace be upon you,” but no one returned the greeting. The train was crowded and I had to stand. I said to myself that Danana had invited me to the meeting in order to tarnish my image among my fellow students so that I might not be able to convince them later on to take any patriotic stand. In their view I was an atheist communist: it was an old and hackneyed secret police tactic that still worked to discredit anyone. I felt a hand patting me on the shoulder; I turned around and saw that standing next to me was the bearded young man who had mocked me at the meeting. He smiled and said, “You are at Illinois Medical, right?”

“Yes.”

“Your brother Ma’mun Arafa. I am studying for a doctorate in civil engineering at Northwestern University. Do you live at the dorm?”

“Yes.”

“I lived in a dorm for some time then moved to a cheaper apartment with a Lebanese roommate.”

I remained silent. Something was telling me to avoid talking with him. He suddenly said, “You must be a serious politico. You attack the president of the republic, no less? Don’t you know that all the union meetings are recorded?”

I ignored him. I turned my face and began to look out of the nearby window. The train had gone through several stops and I had to get off, so I began to make my way with difficulty through the crowd. Suddenly he grabbed my arm and whispered in my ear, “Listen, don’t alienate Ahmad Danana. Everything here is in his hands. If he turns against you he can ruin you.”

As soon as I saw Dr. Salah in the morning he said with a smile on his face, “Nagi, your problems don’t seem to end.”

“Why?”

“Danana told me you had a quarrel with him.”

“He’s a liar. All that happened was that he wanted to send a hypocritical telegram to the president and I objected.”

He looked closely at me and said, “Of course I admire your enthusiasm, but is this an issue worth fighting over?”

“Do you want me to sign a document pledging allegiance like the hypocrites in the National Party?”

“Of course not. But don’t waste your energy in these matters. You have a great opportunity for education — don’t waste it.”

“Learning is worthless if I don’t take a stand on what is happening in my country.”

“Learn and get your degree then serve your country as much as you like.”

“Our colleagues at Cairo University who refused to take part in patriotic marches used the same logic. These are solutions that we resort to in order to deceive ourselves, to replace patriotic duty with professional excellence. No, sir. Egypt now needs direct patriotic action more than teachers and accountants. If we don’t demand the people’s right to justice and freedom, no learning will do us any good.”

I was speaking enthusiastically and it seemed I got carried away, because Dr. Salah suddenly looked angry and shouted at me, “Listen, you are here to learn only. If you want to declare a revolution, go back to Egypt.”

I was taken aback by his anger so I kept silent. He took a deep breath then said apologetically, “Please understand me, Nagi. All I want is to help you. You are in one of the biggest and greatest universities in America and this is the opportunity of a lifetime. You were admitted to the department after a battle.”

“A battle?”

“They were reluctant to admit you because you are not a university instructor. I was among those who supported your admission enthusiastically.”

“Thank you.”

“Please don’t let me down.”

“I won’t.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Dr. Salah sighed in relief then said in a serious tone as he handed me a sheet of paper, “These are my suggestions for the courses you should take.”

“And how about research?”

“Do you like math?”

“I used to get a perfect score in math.”

“Great. How about doing your research on the way calcium is formed in bones? You’d be working with radioactive calcium. A great portion of your research will be based on statistics.”

“Under your supervision?”

“That’s not my specialty. There are only two who work in this area: George Roberts and John Graham.”

“Would you please tell me which one is more appropriate for me?”

“You won’t get along with Dr. Roberts.”

“Please don’t form a bad opinion of me. I can work with any professor.”

“The problem is not you. Dr. Roberts doesn’t like to work with Arabs.”

“Why?”

“He’s just like that. In any case, this should not concern us. Go to Dr. Graham.”

“When?”

He looked at the clock on the wall and said, “You can meet with him now.”

I got up to leave. He smiled and said, “You’ll find him somewhat eccentric, but he is a great professor.”

At the end of the corridor I knocked on Dr. Graham’s office door. His gruff voice said, “Come in.”

I was met by a large cloud of scented pipe tobacco smoke. I looked around to see if there was a window. He said, “Does the smoke bother you?”

“I am a smoker myself.”

“This is the first point of agreement between us.”

He let out a resounding laugh as he exhaled thick smoke. He was reclining on the chair, propping up his feet on the desk in front of him in the American way. I noticed that there was a constant cynical look in his eyes, as if he were watching something amusing. But as soon as he started talking his face became wholly serious. “How can I help you?”