By late morning on a Friday, the streets of the Hada'ek al-Zaytoun neighborhood are already clogged with vendors, women in fullveils and men in white robes and traditional beards. They come, everyFriday, for weekly prayers at the al-Aziz Billah mosque, which has areputation for attracting old-fashioned fire-and-brimstone sheikswhose preaching and rhetoric push the limits of the Egyptiangovernment's strict control of religious expression. ConservativeMuslims -- angry at a fallen world, contemptuous of their owngovernment's secular leanings and convinced that behind much of whatis wrong with Egypt is a failure to stand up to the United States andits client, Israel -- flock to the streets outside this thoroughlyunprepossessing mosque. Undeterred by the blistering summer sun, theylay out prayer mats on the dusty ground, and wait for the hour of 1o'clock.
When it arrives, the high, plaintive chant of the azan, the callto prayer, ascends in semitones through the air. Metal grates slamshut on storefronts. Latecomers rush to find a spot within earshot ofthe loudspeakers that will carry Sheik Abu-Amar Masry's words to thehundreds of faithful gathered outside the small mosque. Carved out ofa dull, brutally square apartment house, the interior of the mosquecan only hold a few dozen at most.
Al-Aziz Billah is not one of Cairo's great historic mosques withminarets and a dome and hundreds of lanterns dangling in a cool,cavernous space. It is almost literally a hole in the wall, in aneighborhood that was one of Cairo's finest -- a place of villas andgardens for the wealthy. But that neighborhood is long gone, and nowHada'ek al-Zaytoun (the name means garden of olives) is overcrowded,poor and falling apart. Ugly high-rises have been shoehorned in amongthe old villas, most of which are crumbling. Cats haunt the forgottengardens, and scamper over what were once fountains.
Masry begins by evoking a world of peril. The day of judgment cancome at any time. Few are ready. Few are sufficiently without shamethat they would dare invite the Prophet into their homes. The arc ofhis speech, which flows in increasingly rapid and urgent tones for anhour, with only one short pause, is a long crescendo. From thecertainty of death and imminent judgment, the sermon, as it istranslated by an interpreter, grows in force and scope, taking inmore particulars of this world, moving from the abstractions of sinand death to the failure of contemporary Muslims to lead their liveswith the purity of the first generation of Islam. When he reaches thetraditional prayers for the defenders of Islam, Masry cites thevictims of Iraq, Palestine and Chechnya, a commonplace troika ofanger in this part of the world.
He refers to America and Israel only glancingly before concluding,but he has, like so many other people in this society, been talkingabout them the entire time. There is a code, in these prayers, thatallows preachers to reach their audience without speaking inparticulars.
There is no doubt, for example, that when he mentions the citiesof Ad and Thamud, he is talking about the United States. Like theBiblical Sodom and Gomorrah, Ad and Thamud were renowned in the Koranfor their wickedness, though their particular sin seems to have beenarrogance. Ad, a city famous for the strength of its people, wasdestroyed by a storm that raged for eight days; Thamud was swallowedup in an earthquake. Masry uses Ad and Thamud to stand for the hollowachievements of America. The catastrophic fate of these ancientpeople comforts those who wish to see America, "the second Ad,"brought to account.
Masry's prayers were pallid compared to what can often be heard atal-Aziz Billah. A week before, according to a street vendor sellingcassette tapes of previous prayers, the renowned sheik MuhammadHassaan gave a far more blistering sermon. Sale of these tapes is abrisk business. Hassaan's sermon, called "Crisis of a Nation," ispreceded by a slickly packaged introduction, using excerpts from thetext, punctuated by a low, ominous voice repeating the title as arefrain. Masry's sermon is a passionate denunciation of thehumiliations suffered by the Arab people -- betrayed by their rulers,shamed by defeat, martyred in their homelands by colonialist powers,and especially Israel. Rape is a binding metaphor, a crime ofcontrol, humiliation and despoliation that is both a literal problemin a corrupt, increasingly Westernized world and an encompassingvision of what it means to be an Arab.
His speech reaches a harrowing climax with an allusion to an image-- of uncertain authenticity but supposedly from Abu Ghraib andwidely known from the Internet -- of an Iraqi woman apparently beingraped by American soldiers. That brings the sheik (and hislisteners) to the point of tears.
"Ah-rab! Ah-rab!" cries Hassaan, prolonging the word intoharrowing, searing and tremulous screams. It is a call to battle, ademand to stand up from the dust and confront America and the West.It is the sound of no compromise.
Although they speak directly to only a minority within a societylike Egypt, voices like Hassaan's and Masry's have come to represent,for many Americans, the mind of an entire region. From the outside,their language sounds like incitement. To Egyptian ears, where therhetoric of anger at the United States and Israel is all butuniversal, the fact that there is no explicit provocation against theEgyptian government means that these sermons fall within the acceptedparameters of religious discourse. Even so, the status of religiousfundamentalists -- the men who preach, the people who listen, and thepolitical activists who seek religious rule -- is both perilous andpowerful in this heavily-policed state on the Nile.
Those suspected of belonging to active Islamist groups, such asthe Muslim Brotherhood and Gamaa Islamiya (the radicals whosespiritual leader was implicated in the first bombing of the WorldTrade Center in 1993), are subject to periodic harassment, arrest andpersecution by the government. They argue -- and there is wideacceptance of this belief -- that the root of this persecution ispressure from the United States and Israel, which force a cravensecular government to suppress political movements threatening to theWest.
The sense that the government is indiscriminate in its abuse offundamentalists, rounding up not just the politically active butanyone who even "looks" like they might belong to Islamist groups,strengthens the feelings of persecution among many conservatives.
"This feeling of persecution really increased after September11th," says Diaa Rashwan, who studies comparative politics at the Al-Ahram Center for Political and Strategic Studies. "Before 9/11 youwould hear it from Islamist groups, the Muslim Brotherhood, but notfrom the majority [of Muslims]. After September 11, because of thisvery heavy and I think stupid pressure from the Bush administration,it helps to increase such feelings -- of persecution, humiliation."
Though they may be relatively few in number, the rhetoric of themost incendiary believers has a reach well beyond neighborhoods likeHada'ek al-Zaytoun. Hatred of America, which cuts across all socialand class divisions, is a significant point of contact between thefundamentalists and the rest of Egyptian society. A new religiousconservatism, thriving among young members of the middle- and upper-middle classes, is as much about forging an Egyptian identity throughresistance to Western encroachments as it is about religion. The windin the sails of this new conservatism is blowing out of places likeHada'ek al-Zaytoun.
Stretching out toward the great pyramids, sprawling Giza isanother area where prosperity has been stymied. Fundamentalistreligious life is flourishing. Hassan Howainy is a professor ofphilosophy at the ancient al-Azhar University in Cairo -- forcenturies a center of Islamic learning. He lives off Faisal Street,in Giza, infamous for the Egyptian government's seizure there offundamentalists during its periodic crackdowns. Howainy, who isblind, sits in a red plastic lawn chair, rocking back and forth as hespeaks. He is graying, and lives in a small apartment surrounded bybooks, some of which are read to him by former students. By localstandards, Howainy is considered a moderate.
"Ad and Thamud went against the laws of God, and God took revengeupon them," he says. "We see a lot of signs of how God takes revengeon people who violate his laws, who go far away from religion. What'sgoing on in America -- forest fires, floods, hurricanes, this kind ofdestruction -- and the diseases, like AIDS, caused by abnormal ways:We consider all of these as signs of the revenge of God."
He speaks as if these things were obvious and only a mind traducedby atheism and Western corruption could fail to see the meaning of Adand Thamud. As a professor at al-Azhar, Howainy is part of an ancientand venerated religious establishment. But while his language echoesideas heard from Christian fundamentalists in this country (JerryFalwell blamed 9/11 on "the pagans, and the abortionists, and thefeminists, and the gays and the lesbians," among others), Howainy haslittle patience with the particular fundamentalism heard at mosqueslike al-Aziz Billah.
"They do not understand the core of Islam," he says. "They are theones that export terrorists because of their strictness and theirlimited moral understanding. It is a school of thought that suits amind that is simple, Bedouin-like." He claims that Egyptianscompletely refuse to embrace this thinking; he minimizes both thefundamentalist threat and their feelings of persecution.
Stability is a word that Howainy uses frequently, and it is thedestabilizing influence of the al-Aziz Billah brand offundamentalists that is his primary concern. They presume to makejudgments about what is and is not religiously proper, about who isand isn't a good Muslim. It's not that one shouldn't make these kindsof judgments, he feels. Rather, these are judgments best left toestablished institutions like al-Azhar (which is essentially state-run). He points to his own lack of a beard and laughs that this wouldmake him, in some people's eyes, an unbeliever. Howainy is not asecularist. He supports an Egypt ruled by sharia law, the traditionalIslamic code that regulates matters both spiritual and practical. Thebest route to stability for Egypt is a sharia-based democraticsociety, he says, with religious thought developed under theuniversity's tutelage. In fact, democracy within the limits ofreligious law is the best route to stability not just for Egypt, butfor the rest of the world, he says. It would be a wise choice forAmerica, he believes.
Listening to Howainy gives one the sense that America is not aparticular place one might find on the map, but merely a collectionof pathologies: mental illness, homosexuality, atheism, materialism.It is, like Ad and Thamud, a mythical incarnation of arrogance. Butwhile Howainy is vague about where he gets his news of America ("Weknow these things," he says), he is not ignorant of America. Far fromit. He is up-to-date about social issues, including gay marriage. Hehas devoted his life to understanding America through the ideas ofits philosophers, especially the late 19th-century "pragmatists" suchas Charles Sanders Peirce, James Dewey and William James, who soughta grand synthesis between the scientific method, spiritual and sociallife, and human happiness. Like many people in this country, he knowsa great deal about America, but in a very particular way.
"Being religious, according to William James, depends on personalbenefit," he says. "We don't have this belief." The pragmatists'focus on the material -- on the efficiency and effectiveness of ideasand social structures -- led them and America astray, Howainybelieves. He connects this lack of pure, spiritual commitment to Godto a general, pervasive malaise within America that explains all itsactions in the world: It is a land of power and personal satisfactionwhich destroys the soul, and leads the country to grasp for oil andland in the Muslim world. It is a philosophy that will destroy theUnited States, just as godlessness destroyed the Soviet Union.
Knowing America, knowing its flaws, weaknesses and contradictions,is for him almost a theological exercise, a way of clarifying Muslimvalues and defeating, if only rhetorically, American claims toidealism. Again and again, while America is castigated for itspolicies, for its unconditional support for Israel during the secondintifada, and its interventionist foreign policy that began with 9/11 and the attack on the Taliban in Afghanistan, it is the sin of Adand Thamud -- arrogance -- that is uppermost in the generalindictment.
The discourse on arrogance is apocalyptic.
Ad and Thamud were utterly destroyed. The Soviet Union, whichsuppressed Islamic life in its Central Asian republics, can no longerbe found on any map. The United States is all-powerful, which is nodefense against divine judgment. When the subject is arrogance, thelanguage here takes on an absolutist tone. Almost everyone agreesthat America's last claim to be any force for good in the world endedwith the Bush administration's decision to attack Iraq.
The attack on Iraq is described, in sermons at al-Aziz Billah, andby moderate figures as well, as a complete annihilation of the Iraqipeople. "History is collapsing and a nation has fallen," says thefundamentalist sheik Hassaan. The image of Iraq is not one ofsuffering, violence and instability, as presented by the newsnetworks. Rather, Iraq is gone; its culture demolished; an entiresociety has been lost. Things keep disappearing from the mental mapof this region: Ad and Thamud, Iraq. Even the old America -- onceseen as a benign and neutral presence, a balance to the old Europeancolonial power -- is described as having disappeared.
But arrogance is not the only sin. Hypocrisy is a close second,and hypocrisy is a curious sort of sin, in which one's claims to besomething are measured against one's actions. With the sin ofhypocrisy, there is a small rhetorical opening to a view of Americanot entirely contemptuous; to accuse America of hypocrisy is to atleast acknowledge that it has professed ideals that are notexclusively a matter of power, ambition, and pride.
Listen, for instance, to Muhammad Tosson, vice president of theLawyers Syndicate, a group that has criticized the Egyptiangovernment for its policy of detaining political and religiousopponents. Or to the man sitting next to him in a crowded first-floor office in downtown Cairo, another lawyer who identifies himselfonly as a member of Gamaa Islamiya. Both men cross the line that thesheiks at al-Aziz Billah only skirt. They criticize America, Israeland their own government, and for that, both have been arrested. Bothsee America as directly responsible for the detention, torture anddeath of Muslims in Egypt. Both return again and again to Americanhypocrisy as a central theme, perhaps even more important than allthe other, more tangible crimes of America.
"America has completely destroyed human rights," says Tosson,through an interpreter. "We have so many detainees here, with notrials. The U.S. knows about this. The U.S. prefers that it happensbecause the detainees are cases of Islamic detention. They know verywell that we have detainees under torture. The Egyptian government isdoing this to satisfy the U.S."
Tosson identifies himself as a member of the Muslim Brotherhood,an Islamist group with long roots in Egyptian political life and agroup that, though officially banned, enjoys an uneasy truce with thegovernment and functions as a behind-the-scenes opposition party. Theman from Gamaa Islamiya ("The Islamic Group") subscribes to a moreradical fringe, and is more radical in his rhetoric. He wears athreadbare green suit with sandals; his beard is unkempt. Asked thedifference between the Muslim Brotherhood and Gamaa Islamiya, helaughs a mirthless little laugh and then holds his hands as ifcradling a rifle and pulls an imaginary trigger.
"Attacking America is justice," he says. "To defend my nation, Iwould go and kill if attacked. The Islamic nation and the Arab nationare one, in all countries."
He describes his own encounters with the Egyptian authorities -- aseries of arrests since 1988 that he says included torture, hours of electric shock, chairs placed on top of him, kicking and beating,hours of questioning. Some of the specifics defy credulity, but heinsists the long litany -- 10 hours of electric shock, 17 hours ofhanging on a door, beaten for five hours, then five more hours of electric shock -- is all true. Although it's impossible to confirmhis particular story, human rights organizations have accused Egyptof all of these practices.
"I would be the first to carry a gun," he says. But he has not, hesays, yet carried a gun. And though he may be one of the angriest menin Egypt, he sees an easy solution: Yankee go home.
"We don't want anything from America but one thing: Just leave usalone," he says. "Have peace with us. Don't take our lands. Don'tgive aid to dictators who put this pressure on us."
With "don't take our lands," he reiterates the widely held beliefthat America covets direct control over the region, for its oil andto further the aims of Israel. But as he says all this, and as hedemands from a reporter some response to a barrage of questions --Why does America always support Israel and never the Palestinians?Why does America support human rights at home, but never abroad? Whyare Muslim prisoners, at places like Abu Ghraib, treated likeanimals? -- it's hard not to hear a note of betrayal in his voice. Hemay be willing, perhaps, to carry a gun against America. But theAmerica of high ideals, it seems, has gone missing from his map, andfor a moment he seems more hurt than angry.
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