Mubarak remains and we are still in shock. For nearly six hours last night, we watched, we waited and we dared to hope. Twitter was exploding, and for good reason. Every source out there, from the CIA to CNN (including the NDP’s own secretary general, Hossam Badrawi) told us Mubarak was finally standing down.
The rumour mill went into overdrive: Mubarak was resigning and handing over his powers to Omar Suleiman. The Army had taken over and ordered Mubarak to leave. He’d been spotted at the airport heading for Dubai or he’d already fled to Sharm El Sheikh, having pre-recorded his speech. Meanwhile, the Brotherhood was claiming there’d been a military coup while the BBC cut to Obama, live from Michigan, who told us history was taking place. Whichever way you looked at it, it seemed like a done deal.
We had our own dilemma – did we go and listen to Mubarak’s resignation speech in Tahrir or stay at home and watch it on TV? We compromised – we’d rush there as soon as the speech was over and join the crowds to celebrate. Tahrir was packed within an inch of its life – it was like a thousand wedding ceremonies happening at once, according to one tweeter. Even hardened news correspondents seemed overcome by the emotion. We were this close to history being made – it was like the Berlin Wall falling, someone said. And then we watched the speech and everything crumbled.
At around 10.45pm – almost an hour behind schedule – Mubarak appeared on State TV, looking more and more like his fellow beleaguered politico, Silvio Berlusconi (they share the same plastic surgeon, as one joker said). He looked neither cowed nor emotional; instead, he was forceful, upbeat, determinedly presidential. There were the same old lines: I speak as a father to his children, I will live and die in Egypt, etc. There were a few new ones: an acknowledgment of the deaths of innocent victims and vague talk of political ‘mistakes’. And then the crucial line, almost rushed through: I have decided to delegate some powers to Vice President Suleiman.
By the end, we were stunned, speechless – and confused. What exactly had just happened? I called a friend of mine who’d been in Tahrir – M, a lawyer, who was already heading home. People were angry but calm, he said. Ninety per cent of the people there hadn’t been able to hear the speech properly and were also confused. His own understanding was that Mubarak had handed over all his powers to Suleiman and would remain in an honorary capacity – no bad thing. “It would have been too insulting for him to spell it out any more than that,” he told me. “This was his way of saying that he was resigning.”
That may well be the case but it’s become abundantly clear since that no one knows exactly what Mubarak meant – which would be farcical if it weren’t so serious (check out William Hague’s reaction last night for some classic political blustering). The only thing that matters is that he is still around (it must surely go down as one of the worst, and most incompetent, speeches in history: never have so many people been so disappointed by so little). Meanwhile, that sense that Mubarak, and also now Suleiman, inhabit a different universe to the rest of us was stronger than ever – they seemed like two grandfathers who’d stumbled into a hip hop concert by mistake.
What’s becoming clear is that this revolution is no longer just about a clamour for democracy. It’s now a power struggle between young and old – between the old guard clinging on to tradition and power, and a new generation fighting for respect and the right to be heard, politically and beyond. Even as they praised Egypt’s youth, Mubarak and Suleiman were sticking desperately to the old language of paternalism – appealing to the protesters once again to behave themselves and go home. Where the rest of the world sees a generation coming of age, Mubarak and his cronies see troubled children who can, and should, be put back in their place.
Mubarak’s last speech may have won him new support – and sparked the bloody clashes of last week – but it’s unlikely that this one will do the same. The tide has been turning against him in the last few days – rumours of his estimated $70 billion fortune have been leaking out and there is less and less trust that the regime will keep its promises. Tahrir has virtually become a republic in its own right, drawing thousands of ordinary Egyptians from all over the country who are savouring their first taste of political freedom there – that sort of momentum is difficult to derail. There is more and more public dissent – yesterday doctors and lawyers joined the protests and there were strikes and demonstrations all over Cairo.
But yet again last night, this revolution confounded us. Today, on Farewell Friday, thousands upon thousands of people are once again massing in Tahrir and throughout Egypt. The violence that some of us expected after last night’s speech has not materialised – yet. The army remains neutral, for the moment. There are rumours that Mubarak and his family have left Cairo – surely he must have got the message by now? The drama continues to unfold before us: a play where everyone seems to know their lines except the lead actor.