From the early days of the Tahrir Square protests, music was vital to the young people making their voices heard. And though the country is taking another authoritarian turn, that spirit of dissent cannot be extinguished
As a child growing up in Egypt, I learned that politics could put you in jail, if not simply get you vanished away. I learned this early on from the way my parents, their friends and our relatives distinguished what could or couldn’t be said. If we broached a subject that was out of bounds, we were brought to silence by stern eye contact from an elder. Rumours were rife about what happened to a classmate’s father; we heard snippets of things but knew we could never ask outright. There were subjects never to be addressed.
Things didn’t change much, even as Egypt became more open in the early 2000s with the arrival of the internet and widespread access to mobile phones. The government had so successfully indoctrinated citizens – partly through patronage, partly through fear – that few dared to speak out, even if asked to. As a journalist working in the country from the age of 18, I was quick to learn the red lines, as we referred to them – the clear parameters of what could or could not be broached. Red lines were considered, tiptoed toward and never crossed. But the Egyptian revolution of 2011 changed this in fundamental ways.
