Lots of us are wondering what the heck is up with Egypt. Ever since the momentous peace agreement at Camp David, with President Carter flashing that famous grin while Sadat and Begin shook hands sealing the historic deal, many of us have taken Egypt for granted, all the while feeling gratitude for their staunch support during the harrowing hostage crisis and even now, as we carefully feel our way toward a new stability and status quo.
Below was sent to me by a friend from NY, who said it is tomorrow's column by veteran Middle East watcher, Thomas Friedman. I think it is illuminating and, if it is accurate, a sobering sign of what we can expect over the near term.
Below is the column, in full. It exactly captures, I think, what is at stake:
I arrived in Cairo overnight, and early this morning I went to meet with my guide, Ali. There were many questions I wanted to ask Ali, but I would have to wait, because he was currently using a telephone. But as I waited for Ali to finish, something struck me and gave me pause for reflection.
Ali was using a telephone, while we were in a car.
While Ali finished his excited conversation, I thought about what had led us up to this point. Just yesterday, it seems, mobile telephones were the province of TV superstars like Maxwell Smart, or global movers and shakers, like the famous Gordon Gecko. But today, a part-time liaison for the US embassy and full-time taxi driver like Ali, with a modest salary, has access to that same cutting edge technology.
"I'm sorry," Ali said when he finished his conversation, "The cable guy is supposed to come by this afternoon, and I needed to make sure one of my daughters was going to be there to meet him." I thought of Ali's daughter, Kourtney, who had come of age in a time in which car telephones were the new normal. She was due to start University this coming fall. "She is going to study journalism, just like in America," Ali told me.
This "new openness" is tantalizing, but also fraught with potential risks. Kourtney will have to learn how to navigate between a new world of car telephones, cable television, and trendy denim clothing, while at the same time being sensitive to the old customs of a society that still treasures its deep historic roots and loyalties to clan and religion.
"Hopefully she will not forget about the pyramids!" I exclaimed to Ali, who looked at me as if I had been in the sun too long. "Careful, Ali," I thought to myself, "the ancient sands of Egypt have swallowed the dreams of many Kourtneys." I wanted to remind Ali that House Harkonnen too, dreamed of the wealth and power that laid underneath its rolling dunes, in the form of the mysterious substance, spice.
As we pulled up to a local marketplace, where it seemed as if all the nations of the world were gathered to do business, make contacts, and launch new capital ventures involving discotheques, lines of sunglasses, and astonishing electronics, Ali and I got out to walk among the stalls.
"Mubarek understands the future," Ali spoke to me in impeccable English. I knew he was right, as far as it went. I knew the embattled leader understood the dreams of Kourtney and her generation, and the aspirations of educated urbanites like Ali, who revel in their cable televisions and Western-made slacks. Mubarek understood the streets of the markets of Cairo, with their excited global buzz about new trade and new economies, and a future of refreshed relations with the West and, yes, even Israel.
But out past the streets, where the dunes take over from the cities, and people have to wear special moisture suits to be able to survive in the merciless desert heat, did Mubarek understand what was at stake there? Did he understand the mysterious Fremen, or the Bene Gesserit, who more often than not frowned on such modern frivolities as car telephones?
Without answers, Ali and I made our way back to the Cairo Spaceport, where I boarded one the Space Guild's airplanes. Did Ali realize, I wondered, that what made this airplane able to fly was not some exotic Western technology, invented in the labs of the MIT's and Harvard's that his daughter Kourtney dreams of, but under his very nose, deep in the sands of this forbidding land? The next six months will be crucial, I told myself, as I left Ali waving at the terminal, hopeful for the future but still haunted by the ancient prophecies.