Egypt Shuts Door on Dissent As U.S. Officials Back Away

He went home and removed hard disks from two desktop computers. He hurriedly stuffed them in a bag, along with his laptop and cameras, where he had saved two years of videotapes and photos. He went to a friend's house for two days, then caught a first-class train to Alexandria, on the Mediterranean. "On first class, they're not looking for suspects," he explained. Once there, he sneaked into Internet cafes to post entries on his blog.

A week later, lawyers told him it was safe to return.

"That's the life of a blogger in Egypt," he said.

As Abbas recounted the story in Groppi's, a storied cafe in downtown Cairo, a sonorous song by Abdel-Halim Hafez played, its wistful riffs bouncing off the worn marble floors. Waiters in smart but worn uniforms delivered small cups of bitter coffee.

"I'm nervous now," he said. "I feel like I'm standing alone. I feel like I'm facing the whole regime on my own."

What Kind of Alternative?

Six years after Khalil heard the anti-Mubarak slogan near the Mugamma in Cairo's Liberation Square, Egypt is a different place. Independent media have emerged -- newspapers such as al-Masri al-Yom and programs such as "10 in the Evening" and "Cairo Today." The leftist opposition newspaper el-Arabi respects few red lines anymore: "The secret wealth of Mubarak," one banner headline in red declared. Bloggers like Seif and Abbas write as they want, in their own war of attrition, as do others. In January 2005, there were about 30 or 40 blogs in Egypt; in just two years, Seif said, the number has grown to 4,000. And a rash of videos detailing brutal abuse by security forces have been made public on the Internet.

"Search for Egypt on YouTube," Seif joked, "and all you'll find is tourism and torture."

But a government that seemed to have lost its step in 2005 has its swagger back.

At word of a small protest in February near the Press Syndicate's headquarters, legions of black-clad security forces effectively shuttered downtown Cairo, barring even pedestrians from a perimeter around the colonnaded building, the banners now torn down. The state has launched its most serious crackdown in a decade on the Muslim Brotherhood, arresting hundreds, sending 40 of its members to military courts, with no right of appeal, and freezing the assets of wealthy patrons. In Alexandria, the government sentenced a blogger, Abdel-Karim Nabil Suleiman, to four years in prison for, among other things, defaming the president.

Residents speak about corruption in superlatives, and anecdotes swirl about the wealthy buying the services of police to intimidate rivals.

"We can't just go out and say the government is bad. Everyone agrees with that. We won that argument," said Khalil. "Now we have to start telling the people: 'Now what? What kind of alternative are we talking about?' "

So far, that alternative has yet to emerge. The Brotherhood is hunkered down, hoping to weather this crackdown as it has done so often over three generations. The movements for change that seemed to grip every profession in Egypt are moribund. Kifaya is in shambles. In November, leading figures resigned, angry over a statement by Ishaq skeptical of the veil; Ishaq himself stepped down, amid whispers of corruption and dictatorial style.

As episodes of unrest erupt -- a sit-in by parents at a school, a protest by drivers along the road to Ain Sukhna, strikes at sprawling industrial sites -- Ishaq and others wait on the sidelines, blunt in their self-criticism that most Egyptians are more worried about jobs, education and health care than slogans denouncing Mubarak.

Missed opportunities, Khalil said glumly, as he nibbled on a salad at a faded downtown restaurant called Estoril.

"The simple issue is that we have to make ourselves relevant to the issues, not the other way around," he said.

The ever-optimistic Maadi was even blunter: "We don't have a vision."

And across town, Ishaq sat in Kifaya's threadbare office, no longer leading a movement that he once, a little arrogantly, called his own. Pessimism is what the government wants, he insisted. He smiled. "The quiet has to precede the storm."

But he turned glummer when asked if he would see democracy in Egypt in his lifetime. He shook his head.

"No," he said, tentatively. Then he repeated the word, this time more conclusively. "No."