This is the fourth installment of a series after spending time in Cairo during some of Egypt’s tumultuous days before its President Hosni Mubarak stepped down.
Day Four: In the Eye of the Storm: Wednesday Night / Thursday Morning: February 2 & 3:
The battle – now three hours old – that I had just watched on a monitor at the bureau was raging two to three blocks from my hotel. It began with shoes, then rocks and now had degenerated into a brutal battle. Pro- and anti-Mubarak forces fought like medieval warriors. For a revolution that began with 21st century technology – Twitter, Facebook and the Internet – it took a turn back to the Middle Ages.
After I got to my room, I talked once more with my boss, Rob Allman, and we discussed our plans. At this time in the early evening and before the sun had set, I still leaned toward staying, feeling I could manage our news coverage – and still remain relatively safe – by walking between the hotel and the news bureau around the corner.
Meanwhile, the battle continued raging with no signs of abating.
It was a crude, bloody siege.
Demonstrators threw petro bombs from rooftops to the streets below or from one rooftop to the next. Darkness shrouded Cairo by then and the explosions lit up the night for a moment; then the streets would dim down into a smoky haze.
I went downstairs for dinner. Riding on the elevator provided snippets of information from other journalists. What was it like outside? Who had their equipment confiscated? One divulged that two of his remote satellite dishes were taken. Between the journalists – who by now were all targets – the camaraderie was instant and “be safe” a comforting salutation.
Dinner itself was a bit of a surreal experience knowing a battle was taking place just blocks away.
Back in the room and throughout that night, I had the unusual experience of watching CNN and BBC transmitting a live image of the battle on my TV and then walking a few feet to my balcony and seeing the very same image. Neither of these networks are typically my first choice for news, but they provided invaluable information for me that night. They might have been broadcasting to the world, but I was just two blocks away and I needed to know what they were reporting.
Around 7 p.m., several thousand miles away my CBN News colleague George Thomas led noon chapel at CBN in Virginia Beach. He arranged a Skype connection with my hotel phone, which thankfully was still working. For the first time in days, I heard a worship service, a spiritual tonic for a weary soul. George explained to those in the chapel where I was, what I was doing and then had me share my experiences in Cairo. I told them what was happening and my feelings about the situation. Then George led in prayer both for Egypt’s predicament and my safety.
I could imagine the faces of the CBN family. I sensed their love, their support and expressed my love. So far away, alone and in the midst of precarious circumstances, their love and support pushed back the emotional and spiritual darkness. It was a welcome, sweet respite from the events of the day and the battle near the hotel, the place that by now had become my refuge.
I knew intercessors – many who have prayed faithfully for me for years – were interceding. Their prayers helped bring the scriptures to life:
“... he who abides in the shelter of the Most High shall dwell in the shadow of the Almighty.” (Psalm 91:1)
Later in the evening, hotel security staff came in and told me I couldn’t videotape from my balcony. CNN broadcast from the same hotel and I could see their vantage point – one of the many they had - being closed down on live TV. I was told later Egyptian secret police used binoculars to scan hotels. They’d pinpoint the rooms videotaping from their balconies and then come and confiscate the cameras. The Ramses Hilton staff didn’t want their hotel to become a target.
As the night wore on, the battle grew more intense. Cars - unfortunate enough to be parked near the battle - were torched. Then around 11 p.m. gunfire – lots of it – punctuated the night air. It sounded like heavy caliber machine gun fire. Then small arms fire erupted. I couldn’t see which direction most of the gunfire was coming from except for the red tracer bullets that flew next to the hotel and arced out over the Nile River.
Eventually – because of the gunfire – I turned off the lights in my hotel room.
Then there came a time when standing up was no longer an option. I didn’t walk to my balcony. I crawled.
I thought I should sleep but kept watching the battle both on the screen and from my balcony. I reminisced about my Dad and what his experience must have been like in World War II. He won Bronze Star and served as head of a medical unit near the front lines. I was close to these front lines and felt some kind of bond through the years with him. I wondered how he felt when an artillery barrage would come in or when the sounds of battle raged nearby.
I started thinking I should pack and be ready to leave just in case I needed to evacuate. With those thoughts running through my head, I fell asleep and had a dream. In my dream, the battle had reached the hotel and raged just below my window. Rocks were strewn on the street while my attention was drawn to one protestor who hurled a large rock at other demonstrators. The dream was so vivid, so real, I woke up and went to the balcony to see this scene for myself. But the street just below my balcony was quiet. But by now the violence was swirling closer and closer to the hotel, two, not one street away. The dream’s meaning was clear.
One thought came to me: Pack!
After the dream, I watched a skirmish about a block away between about 30 on one side and 20 on the other. I couldn’t tell the the pro-Mubarak from the anti-Mubarak forces. They threw rocks and petro bombs at each other. One scored a direct hit and someone exploded in flames but within seconds he and an accomplice put it out. The mobs jeered at one another, threatened each other and nearly killed one another.
What was most striking and sobering was the total and pervasive lack of law and order. It was anarchy. The mobs ruled. You could feel it.
“... you will not fear the terror of night ...” (Psalm 91:5a)
Throughout the night and into the morning, a rhythmic beating on the metal barricades reverberated in the darkness. It reminded me of a scene from the movie Braveheart with warriors beating their shields: a raw battle to the death. I had a front row seat to this remarkable and violent drama, with thousands contending for the fate and future of Mubarak, Cairo and Egypt in the balance. Neither side willing to give in or give up. Close quarters combat.
The battle sent a catastrophic image to the world, particularly for a nation dependent on tourism. But the military did not intervene. They surrounded the combatants but stood as silent witnesses. Tanks, armored personnel carriers and soldiers ringed the battle and, I felt, had become accomplices to the carnage. I wondered who could or would allow a pitched battle in the center of its capital city unless it was permitted or even encouraged to take place. As one commentator put it, “people died tonight but they didn’t have to.”
I wondered if this would become Egypt’s Tiananmen Square. I thought of the people I had seen earlier in the day, the ones we interviewed. Were they wounded? Were they dead?
I heard the death toll announced later by Egypt’s Health Ministry but was convinced it was much higher. With the amount of heavy machine gun fire, small arms fire, petrol bombs, rocks, knives and clubs, the carnage had to be greater than that.
Another commentator concluded Mubarak would not go “quietly into the night.” Could this be some kind of Machiavellian strategy by Mubarak to light Cairo on fire and then become both the arsonist and the fireman? If he did go, he’d go on his own terms and with the blood of his own people on the streets of Cairo.
Egypt was in uncharted territory. So was I.
“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.” (Psalm 23:4)
There came a time during the night when my situation seemed to get serious ... very serious ... a time when the refuge of the hotel itself seemed vulnerable. Would the mob storm the hotel? Did they know the hotel held journalists from around the world? Would the protestors who harbored such animosity toward journalists turn on the hotel? Was it strong enough? I thought of barricading my room. I looked across the street to the burnt out hulk of Mubarak’s political headquarters and wondered if they could or would set this building on fire. If so, what would be my escape route? Seven stories up all of a sudden seemed like a perch I didn’t appreciate.
Later I found out I wasn’t the only journalist concerned about the safety of the hotel. During the heat of the battle, another news agency sent this urgent message to the Hilton Hotel management asking that they make sure the hotel was secure:
To whom it may concern,
This is a quick letter as the situation is urgent and unpredictable.
About 20 foreign journalists are currently holed up in Hilton Hotel Cairo, Egypt which is currently right on the front line of the street battles going on in that city.
We’ve had news all day of targeted attacks on journalists and news has just come in of a foreign journalist beaten to death in the streets today.
Currently the mobs targeting journalists are right outside the Hilton but have not breached the premises.
Word is that staff is getting edgy, the journalists equipment has been confiscated, and there is danger both that the staff will hand the journalists over or the mobs will breach the hotel.
This is just an email to request that Hilton does all they can to protect those journalists currently inside the Hilton.
Today we’ve seen companies like Vodafone implicated in the Egyptian government’s plans to stop the protests. This has irrecoverably damaged their brand worldwide and within the region.
Please don’t let Hilton become another reputable company complicit in the horrible violence and attacks on human rights and freedoms currently underway in Egypt.
Yours in hope,
The sounds of battle kept pounding the atmosphere.
“... Your rod and your staff, they comfort me.” (Psalm 4b)
During the night I also turned my attention away from my own plight and prayed the Lord would intervene and redeem the drama I was witness to. My prayer felt feeble when compared to the intensity I felt from the battle, but at the very least I thought I could as an eyewitness “pray onsite with insight.”
In those proverbial darkest hours just before the dawn, I wondered when the sun would come up. I longed for it. When would light shine on this “long day’s journey into night?” This desperate, defiant and deadly day.
Early in the morning about 5a.m., CNN reported the latest U.S. State Department advisory: All Americans were advised to go immediately to the airport when the curfew lifted. “Further delay is not advisable” it added.
Shortly after that, Rob called. He had seen the same State Department advisory and he recommended I follow its advice. I agreed. It was a welcome call offering timely and Godly counsel. One factor we considered: my compatriot had never made it into the country. The words of the Ecclesiastes 4 rang true once more:
“Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labor: If either of them falls down, one can help the other up. But pity anyone who falls and has no one to help them up.”
George Thomas called too with some needed encouragement, prayer and savvy advice. One suggestion: don’t tell the hotel staff I was leaving until I showed up at the front desk.
Then I called a believer I had spoken with earlier in the week about the biblical and spiritual significance of what was taking place in Egypt. This time we talked about logistics and timing. She urged me to leave for the airport ... soon. She didn’t want me to wait. Her words resonated: one more confirmation ... it’s time to leave.
Now I knew I was going ... but the question was how? It felt like a tight place and I wasn’t quite sure how to get out of it. One thing I do know is that I was focused in a way I have seldom been before. I may not have known how I’d escape, but I did know the small, incremental steps I needed to take along the way. Shower, dress, empty the safe of valuables and passports. Looking back, I know the alertness was a direct result of the people who were faithfully and fervently praying for me.
“He guides me along the right paths for His name’s sake.” (Psalm 23:3)
I called the head of the production company I had talked with before. He was gracious enough to invite me to his home but because his English was so difficult to understand and my Arabic non-existent, I chose not to accept his offer or ask him for a ride to the airport.
I then called Muhammad, the taxi driver from the first night I arrived. He could take me but not for another hour and a half. Too long.
With no immediate or visible avenue of escape, I simply did what many people do when they’re checking out of a hotel. I went outside and looked for a cab. It was simple and it worked. The bellman went outside with me and we found a taxi driver who said he was available.
I asked him to give me 15 minutes and I’d be back down. Not knowing when or where my next meal would come from, I downed a quick breakfast, went upstairs and grabbed my bags. Then I took some last pictures from my balcony of the battle still going on now as the first rays of the sun revealed the carnage and chaos of the night. I wanted something to remember that night.
I checked out. Ramy, the desk clerk, assured me everything would be okay. The look in his eyes told me he didn’t believe it. Neither did I.
Hassan (not his real name) would be my driver. Just as we pulled away, another cab driver stopped him and told him journalists had been videotaping from his cab and risked getting him in serious trouble. Hassan warned me, no cameras! I assured him I wouldn’t take any pictures ... especially since my camera had been stolen. He drove me through the narrow streets next to the hotel that happened to be his neighborhood. Friends called out to him by name, a reassuring sound. The contrast between the five star hotel and his home was striking: narrow, dirty streets. Hovels. The streets squeezed so narrow we had to stop and wait for other cars to pass.
Finally, we emerged from his neighborhood and pulled out to the main street. He looked right and we saw a tank and several cars were waiting in line at a checkpoint. Too many he felt. So he turned left into the oncoming flow of traffic and flashed his lights. After a block, he bore right and entered into the flow of traffic back on the right side of the road. He saved some time and a check point. We drove on and again he warned me once again about pictures.
We came up to the first checkpoint. They bore resemblance to the nearly 80 checkpoints we went through that first night in Cairo. But these were more menacing. Young men – maybe from six to 12 at a checkpoint – held clubs, pipes and knives. They motioned for us to stop. Hassan told me he’d take care of it. He showed his ID. I showed them mine. It was enough. They let us go through.
But this was just the first checkpoint. There were others. At one checkpoint one young boy had a machete. Thankfully, he was inspecting another car. At one of the checkpoints, they asked Hassan to open the truck. They looked at my bags and I wondered if they just might help themselves to whatever they wanted. There wasn’t much I could do if they did. They closed the trunk. We were able to drive through one of these vigilante checkpoints only because they were chasing down a motor scooter who dared to drive through. The checkpoints seemed to be set up a certain radius away from Tahrir Square. After a few of these, we thankfully were able to drive freely without stopping to the airport.
On the way, Hassan and I talked about his family, about the situation. He said people needed food and work. He told me about his children and one daughter who was studying to be a doctor. He was a nice man, one of the many pleasant and kind Egyptians I met during my brief stay. I had been to Egypt before and despite the riot and battle I witnessed, it was by far my most enjoyable experience. In fact, to paraphrase Tony Bennett, I felt “I left my heart in Egypt.”
We passed Mubarak’s presidential palace heavily fortified with tanks, soldiers, barbed wire and armored personnel carriers. About 10 minutes later, we arrived at the airport. I told him I was flying El Al and he said they flew out of building number one. We had agreed on a price for the cab ride. However, I decided to give him more than what we had agreed to. When I offered it to him, he asked me if instead of Egyptian pounds I had any American money. After all, Egyptian pounds were losing value by the hour. The banks had been closed by then for days.
I gave it a thought and gave Hassan the American money instead. It was one of the biggest fares I’ve ever given for a cab ride. After all, he just ran a gauntlet of vigilante checkpoints for me, any of which was a potential threat to life, limb and property. He became my unexpected avenue of escape...my way home.
“You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies.” (Psalm 23:5a)
It was probably the biggest fare he ever got and probably the most valuable taxi ride I ever had. He got out, handed me my baggage and I gave him the fare. He smiled broadly, kissed me on both cheeks and hugged me. I felt like I just helped send his daughter through medical school.
Into building number one. Hundreds of people inside and out were looking to leave Cairo. I came in not knowing where the El Al counter would be. One after another of young men pestered me about carrying my luggage and help me through security. Of course there was a price and they asked for the tip right up front. I obliged but it wasn’t enough. They wanted more. I obliged one more time. They wanted even more. No, I insisted that’s enough and thank you very much I’ll take care of my own bags. One of them had actually got by bags through the X-ray machine but the security guard gave me the news and the latest bump in the road: the flights going to Jerusalem were all cancelled. I retrieved my bags and looked for the El Al office to verify the information and see if there really was a way out of Cairo on El Al. I checked with information, British Air, Royal Jordanian and others. Every direction I was given ended up in a dead end, no El Al office. I began to wonder if El Al had closed up shop.
After more than an hour, I ran into a British Embassy official. She was helping a young English girl who had lost her passport and was trying to leave the country. She said Americans were leaving out of Building number 4. Building number 4...that sounded like where I wanted to be. I was on my way.
I left the terminal and now confronted hundreds of people swarming to get in. A man whispered to me “taxi?” It sounded like the same kind of offer when someone says “want to buy a watch?” I was leery but decided to take him up on his offer. I didn’t know though if we’d be heading to Building 4 or points unknown. I sat in the front seat feeling if I needed to leave the cab quickly or stop the cab, it would be better to be up front than in the back. My trust level was pretty low by that time. But it turned out he was a promising engineering student. Pretty soon, we saw re-assuring signs to Building 4. We pulled up. He gave me my bags. I exhorted him to be a good engineer and hoped the Egypt in his future would allow that.
The atmosphere at Building number 4 was different...calm, orderly. I immediately felt at home. I saw many Americans. After two days of uncertainty and for the first time in hours, I felt like I might make it. I wanted to give someone a hug.
“ ... You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.” (Psalm 23: 5b)
I stood in line waiting to be processed for the evacuation flight to Frankfurt. It felt comforting, like I was in line for a church Sunday potluck meal. The lady could have been asking me if I had brought a covered dish, salad or a desert. One guy at the table wore a Yankees hat. Even for a Red Sox fan, it was a welcome site...though I did ask him if he they processed Red Sox fans too.
I tried to use my satellite phone to contact CBN and let them know where I was, grateful that we had made a last minute decision to rent the phone as a communications backup. However, after several tries, it wasn’t connecting to the satellite. I went inside, through security and into the terminal. A State Department official did let me make a call and left a message with CBN’s Steve Little and let him know where I was.
Later, I asked to go outside and gave the satellite phone another try but a security guard had to stay with me. Finally, I made contact with our Jerusalem bureau. Relieved I was okay, we talked for a few minutes and then another State Department official came up to me. He said that Egyptian officials had confiscated four of their satellite phones and if the head of Egyptian security saw me with a satellite phone, he might confiscate the phone and me along with it. I said a quick goodbye to our Jerusalem staff. This began a personal communications blackout for most of Thursday.
Later in the day, we finally left the terminal for the plane. Clear of Egyptian officials and the building (satellite phones need to be in the open to receive a satellite signal) I started to call again. First, a message to home...I’m okay. Then a call to a colleague; can you find a hotel in Frankfurt? Also, a call to CBN...yes, I can do a phone report, which I did standing on the stairs of the plane.
We sat on the tarmac for hours, delayed by several diplomatic and bureaucratic snafus. One of them involved some folks who wanted to leave the country but did not qualify. Their bags had to be taken off the plane.
I sat beside a guy named Tony. He had been shot in the leg with buckshot during one of the early demonstrations. He said an Egyptian policeman shot more than a hundred demonstrators that day while laughing. While he was re-loading, he said the crowd rushed his armored car, tipped it over and threw him into the Nile River.
Tony went to the hospital but said the nurses who treated him went from one patient to another with blood on their hands without washing or sterilizing themselves. He developed an infection so bad he was concerned he might lose his leg. He said he would have a medical team waiting for him in Frankfurt.
The wheels lifted off at 10:15 p.m. just more than 72 hours since I landed four days ago.
Again I watched the lights of Cairo below as I had several nights before. After witnessing Egypt’s tumultuous history with more turmoil yet to come, it seemed abundantly clear how important it is to pray for this nation, its people and its spiritual destiny “for such a time as this.”
We arrived at about 2:30 a.m. Friday morning.
Landing in Frankfurt was one more stage of “decompressing” from the pressure in Cairo. The U.S. Embassy personnel were terrific. Dare I say “angelic” given the circumstances? They were kind, helpful and considerate. They thought of most everything…water, juices, sodas, snacks, fruit ... games for the kids … magazines and books…even Girl Scout cookies! What a relief to see friendly faces. It was a home away from home.
“ ... He refreshes my soul.” (Psalm 23:3)
After our arrival, I wondered if I had left Cairo prematurely and asked myself why I didn’t stay in the heat of the battle. Of course, one powerful argument was that I had no backup. No team; no one to pick me up as Ecclesiastes says or watch my back. Even the walk around the block got risky. That’s when I started hearing the stories about the other journalists. I thought differently.
I first called Ahmad my cameraman from two days before. He told me he was called a “traitor” and that cameras were being destroyed. The bureau chief where I’d worked there sent out only one of his cameramen on Thursday. All the others he kept inside. His live shot location was threatened. Nobody wanted cameras down in Tahrir Square that morning. Journalists and foreigners were being targeted.
On Wednesday afternoon, February 2, the rules of engagement had changed fundamentally.
I learned later an ABC News crew was threatened with beheading; FOX News Greg Palkot and his cameraman were hospitalized and nearly beaten to death; the Washington Post bureau chief was arrested. The Committee to Protect Journalists (CJP) described the situation this way:
"The Egyptian government is employing a strategy of eliminating witnesses to their actions," said Mohamed Abdel Dayem, CPJ's Middle East and North Africa program coordinator. "The government has resorted to blanket censorship, intimidation, and today a series of deliberate attacks on journalists carried out by pro-government mobs. The situation is frightening not only because our colleagues are suffering abuse but because when the press is kept from reporting, we lose an independent source of crucial information."
All in all, the CJP reported more than 140 instances of harassment, physical threats, beatings, arrests, and confiscated equipment were reported. They also talked about the Rames Hilton where I stayed:
“Mubarak supporters stormed Cairo's Hilton Hotel searching for journalists, al-Jazeera reported today. Journalists inside the hotel posted a Tumblr entry that said, "About 20 foreign journalists are currently holed up." BBC Foreign Editor Jon Williams tweeted, "Egyptian security seize BBC equipment at Cairo Hilton in attempt to stop us broadcasting." New York, February 2, 2011--Supporters of President Hosni Mubarak have begun violently attacking journalists reporting on the streets of Cairo today, a shift in tactics from recent media censorship, the Committee to Protect Journalists said. CPJ calls on the Egyptian military to provide protection for journalists.”
The most powerful argument of course was the strong sense – confirmed three times – that the Lord said it’s time.
I eventually arrived back safely in Jerusalem on Sunday reflective and thoughtful.
In terms of what I had witnessed, I felt like the Egyptian revolution seemed more like the Iranian protests of 2009 when a million Iranians took to the streets demanding that a corrupt theocracy fall. In Tahrir Square, Egyptians were unified by one aim, to bring about the fall of an autocratic despot. Egypt’s revolution seemed to be a genuine plea by young Egyptians and many others for less corruption and more freedom. But under the surface and behind the scenes there are other strata of Egyptian society that could lead Egypt into even greater bondage than they had under Mubarak. Could this be another plunge into the abyss of an Islamic theocracy like Iran’s in 1979? (More on this in the next and final installment in this series.)
Where this goes, no one knows. But if the saying is true that “history belongs to the intercessors,” then this is the time to fast and pray for Egypt (indeed the whole Middle East) and plead for its future before the Lord. The future may well be long, bloody and chaotic, but He promised to look for and hear those who will “stand in the gap.”
On a personal note, I gained a profound appreciation and deeper love of life, my wife, children and family. I felt too a deeper commitment to fulfill God’s calling on my life and a far deeper appreciation of the power of prayer. And a sense that given these tumultuous times we’re entering it’s a time when it’s vital for all of us to “get it right” and to “get right with God.” As we face the future, we need to walk with the One who holds the future.
“Surely goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.” (Psalm 23:6)