Chicago, Alaa Aswany [first e reader .TXT] 📗

three of whom were veiled females. I shook hands with them and we introduced ourselves.

When the meeting began I started to look closely at them. They were all hardworking, highly successful young men and women like hundreds of junior faculty members in Egyptian universities. I didn’t think any of them cared about anything more than their academic achievement, their future, and improving their income. Most of them were religious and had prayer marks and some were bearded. Most likely they understood religion as nothing more than prayer, fasting, and veiling for the women. I noticed a tape recorder close to Danana, so I asked him, “Do you record what we say?”

“Of course. Do you have any objections?” he said gruffly and fixed me with a hostile stare. I was surprised at the sudden change of his tone with me. I remained silent and watched how he talked with the students. I was surprised by the complete authority he exercised over them. They addressed him in awe and flattered him, as if he were their boss or military commander and not just a colleague. After half an hour of small talk and boring details, Danana announced enthusiastically, “By the way, I have happy news for all of you: I have learned from reliable sources that our revered president will visit the United States soon and will come to Chicago.”

There were murmurs and he went on in a louder voice, “You are lucky. One of these days you will be able to tell your children that you have met the great leader face-to-face.”

Then, taking a drag on his cigarette he said, “I am asking you for your permission to send, in your names, a telegram to our revered president in which we renew our pledge of allegiance to him and express our happiness for his gracious visit.”

“I don’t agree,” I said quickly. Whispering around me died down, and a heavy silence fell. Danana turned to me slowly and said in a cautionary tone of voice, “What exactly don’t you agree with?”

“I object to sending a telegram of allegiance to the president. This hypocrisy does not become us as students.”

“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 country 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,