The Civilian Gap: Comparing Military Conduct in Egypt and Democracies
The school year in Egypt began about two weeks ago, during which social media was flooded with videos of military officers managing morning lines in many schools for children and adolescents across various governorates. These officers, while supervising the lines, recite “stiff slogans and phrases about the nation, belonging, discipline, and patriotism,” as if they hold exclusive rights to grant or deny privileges and determine who is patriotic and who is not.
Because the situation is so absurd, it was natural for some school principals to compete for attention and curry favor with the authoritarian military regime, as if they were “part of the military household.” Some went so far as to top the trends in Egypt “trend” referring to those leading search results and news headlines. One such official, the principal of a school in Qalyubia, asked students in the morning line to enthusiastically salute the flag “so their voices reach Tel Aviv.” In truth, I fail to see the connection between the Egyptian flag salute and Tel Aviv. This alarming reality in Egypt mixes militarization with hostility toward a country with which we signed a peace treaty 46 years ago, in Washington, DC, on March 26, 1979, following the Camp David Accords of 1978, signed by Egyptian President Anwar Sadat and Israeli Prime Minister Menachem Begin, witnessed by US President Jimmy Carter.
What is happening in my forcibly exiled homeland, Egypt because I refuse to see it ruled by either the military or Islamists compels me to recount two remarkable experiences I have had in Sweden over the past seven years and six months.
The First Incident:
Our astonishment quickly faded as we joined the conversation, enjoyed the food and drinks, and sipped fermented beers. Gradually, the music grew louder, and some attendees began dancing. In short, the restaurant turned into a “vivid tableau of joy, rich in details.”
Throughout, the waiter brought us bottles of beer, saying they were “a greeting from one of the patrons,” smiling warmly. After enjoying our time, my friend asked for the bill, only to be told by the manager that “the bill has been paid.” He tried to find out who paid, but the man absolutely refused to indicate the officer, which felt unusual in the European context, leaving the question hanging… until the second incident.
The Second Incident:
Several months ago, very early in the morning, I left to catch the first bus to the train station to travel to a distant city. I was surprised to see an officer in uniform waiting for the bus. He approached me and offered the customary Swedish greeting “Hej,” which I returned as usual. Then he began a brief conversation, apologizing politely for “my sighting of military attire at the start of my day,” explaining that it happened involuntarily due to urgent circumstances, and assured me of his understanding of civilian discomfort at seeing military personnel in uniform.
His apology was enough to answer a question that had lingered for over seven years since the pizza restaurant incident: why had an officer silently paid our bill that day, insisting on remaining anonymous.
Conclusion:
Throughout all these years, I have only seen “the military” in Sweden in these two incidents, which carry deep significance: in democratic countries, the military is aware that it is a transient guest in civilian spaces, and respecting people begins with concealing their presence rather than imposing it.
What is happening in Egypt makes it almost impossible for anyone who believes in the value of peace to emerge from this society, and that is a catastrophe of catastrophes.
