Extraordinary politics of ordinary people: Explaining the microdynamics of popular committees in revolutionary Cairo

Introduction

By the time thousands had poured into the streets on 25 January 2011, Egyptians and international observers had already directed their gaze towards a suggested center: Tahrir Square. The square’s downtown (and highly symbolic) location was transformed into an ideal stage for what came to be known as the Egyptian Revolution. But as any drama unfolds, its audience forgets to look beyond the original stage to see the complexity that surrounds the spectacle. My aim in this article is to contribute to this complexity by telling another narrative of the revolution, providing a second vignette that existed simultaneously and parallel to the story of Tahrir Square.

The third day of mass protests, 28 January, became known as ‘the Friday of Anger.’ Aside from frustration, Egyptians experienced confusion when they discovered that police forces had disappeared from residential neighborhoods and anxiety when rumors of a prison breakout had spread. But rather than fearfully remaining in their homes, Egyptians went down into the streets to protect their loved ones and property from looters and suspicious outsiders. Spontaneously, they sealed off major intersections on each street and set up checkpoints with their neighbors. Within 24 hours, virtually every block and neighborhood in Cairo was run and operated by its residents (Bremer, 2011b). These self-defense groups – sometimes referred to as popular committees (PCs), or lijan sha’biyya ¹ – were heterogeneous in their tactics, organization, and efficacy, but were together a critical response to the security vacuum.

In this article, I describe the microdynamics of PCs in two neighborhoods in Cairo during their 15-day existence. I begin by explaining those initial moments of the revolution and how the regime’s decisions affected the mobilization of residents. Next, I trace the development of PCs – from their initial practices, communication methods, and exclusionary actions to their eventual expansion across neighborhoods all over Cairo. I conclude the narrative by recounting the final, more routine moments of PC activity, where protecting one’s street had become a banal duty.

How did ordinary individuals ² collectively act to fill in the void of an unstable ³ state by restoring security within their neighborhoods? The question is not a new one. For one, much has been written on community responses to ‘natural’ disasters, such as in the cases of Hurricane Katrina and the Mumbai monsoon floods in 2005, or the 1992 earthquake in Cairo (Campagna, 1996; Clark, 2013; Solnit, 2010). The same has been true during geopolitical crises where security states have collapsed, such as Egypt’s 1967 and 1973 wars, Palestine’s First Intifada, Iraq’s invasion of Kuwait, and the 2001 Argentinian riots (Auyero, 2007; Ghabra, 1991; Mahshi and Bush, 1989; Robinson, 1997). In each case, the state’s lack of, or reluctance to, provide essential resources and services gave ordinary citizens a chance to support their own communities through mutual aid and informal leadership. Long-term impacts on participants’ future attitudes and activism vary across cases but remain a critical topic for concerned scholars.

The 2011 Egyptian PCs, on the other hand, have been the topic of discussion for only a few academic researchers and a slightly larger number of journalists. When local media has covered PCs, accounts have varied dramatically – some calling them ‘the true spirit of democracy’ (Khazbak, 2011) while others refer to them as self-appointed vigilantes ‘wielding long sticks and keeping collared dogs’ (Al Sherbini, 2013). Other have focused on the range of services that they provided for ‘popular’ neighborhoods in Cairo, such as delivering gas tanks for cooking and heating, planning sewage systems, and bringing electricity to residents (Associated Press, 2011). One reason for the contrasting reports is due to the heterogeneity of PCs across rural and urban areas of the country (Abu-Lughod, 2012).

Taking a scholarly approach, El-Meehy (2012) and Bremer (2011b) have studied the transformation of PCs into more formal organizing bodies. Their central question, however, is opposite to the one I posed earlier: how sustainable is grassroots organizing in the face of a stabilizing state? Bremer’s (2011a) earlier study provides what is perhaps the most thoroughly researched account of the early PCs of the revolution. In her collaborative project, she analyzes PCs in 24 neighborhoods, focusing specifically on differences in leadership structures. Both Bremer and El-Meehy conclude that residents felt empowered when organizing PCs. However, they also question the long-term impact that such emotions may have on the future actions of participants since most PCs dissolved after the state began to stabilize.

Even if moments of crisis do not lead to a new or revitalized civil society, the phenomena must be further researched since they represent exceptional cases where otherwise ordinary citizens take matters into their own hands. Such case studies will allow us to challenge previous definitions and concepts discussed among scholars of collective behavior and social movements. For example, the phenomenon described in this article could be given various names – ‘popular committees,’ ‘neighborhood assemblies,’ or ‘self-defense groups’ – and definitions to go along with them. Since their primary function is to guarantee security without the help of state officials, some may consider them to be ‘vigilante’ groups. And because social movement theorists have failed to incorporate such groups into their theoretical framework, most of what has been written about such groups takes on a legalistic perspective (Gazit, 2014; Johnston, 1996). Those who wish to stick to the more common definition of social movements must recognize such groups as ‘a network of informal interactions between a plurality of individuals, groups and/or organizations, engaged in a political or cultural conflict, on the basis of a shared collective identity’ (Diani, 1992: 13). Though this definition may apply to the PCs studied here, it is unclear how such a label will be analytically useful if we wish to distinguish between self-help groups that emerge during a political crisis versus those which continue to exist in moments of relative stability. Still, others may consider them ‘paramilitary organizations’ that manage to move alongside, rather than against, the state. What is most intriguing here is the difficulty of using such definitions in order to rigidly categorize such phenomena. It is my hope that this case study challenges previous analytical frameworks that center on binaries, such as movement–countermovement, vigilante–legal, and paramilitary–revolutionary organizations.

So how did ordinary citizens respond to a security vacuum during the 2011 Egyptian revolution? Rather than look at the long-term impacts of the PC experience, I focus on describing their development, specific practices, and dissolution in two upscale neighborhoods. To be sure, this is not another narrative about the dramatic events of Tahrir Square. This is the story of ordinary individuals and their everyday practices during a revolutionary moment. We may say that some of their actions were extraordinary insofar as participants, most of whom had little previous political experience, consciously took on the role of the state by providing basic security, policing territory, and perpetuating stereotypes that marginalized outsiders. They organized local groups spontaneously, from below, and without centralized decision-making processes. But while some participants saw themselves as part of the revolution, many were happy to return to their homes and ‘let the state do their job.’ In this sense, they were as much extraordinary as they were restorers of stability during an unpredictable time. The point here is not to deem them revolutionary or reactionary but to understand them within the context that they emerged.

Before detailing the development of Egyptian PCs, a general chronology is in order. January 28th marked the first day of mobilization and will therefore be identified as the birth of the phenomenon. The Friday of Anger marked not only the third day of the Egyptian 2011 revolution, but also the moment when police disappeared from residential neighborhoods and looting became widespread. Though the PCs’ development cannot be neatly divided into sequential ‘phases,’ we may identify at least two critical turning points. First, communication lines in all of Cairo (with the exception of landlines in some neighborhoods) remained down from 28 January to 2 February. The communications shutdown was part of a larger plan concocted by a regime desperate to regain their draconian stability. For residents participating in PCs, this meant that the first four to six days relied primarily on rumors, face-to-face interactions, and walkie-talkies. Once communication lines were fully restored, PCs were able to use all their resources to connect with residents not only on their streets but also across entire neighborhoods. Second, and by the fourth day of PC activity, almost all the PCs studied had military personnel occupying their intersections, as well as apprehending and detaining suspects captured by participants. This rendered participation in PCs, after 2 February, (seemingly) less dangerous and consequentially more routinized. By the time of Mubarak’s resignation on 11 February, most participants had returned to their homes or joined friends and family in Tahrir. In the final section, I discuss the transformation of individuals within PCs – from inexperienced and anxious to confident and even bored (once stability became palpable). In the next section, however, I discuss how I was able to capture the PC narrative.

A note on methodology

To answer my central research question, I conducted 12 semi-structured interviews with former participants during the winter of 2013 – almost three years after the PCs’ emergence and quick dissolution. All participants, most of who were in their twenties and thirties, came from middle and upper-middle class families and held white-collar jobs – they included engineers, graphic designers, and accountants, though there were also students and even a low-ranked military officer.

Interviews were conducted at cafes or other informal settings and focused on two upscale neighborhoods in Egypt: Mohandeseen and Dokki. During the 1980s, both replaced the downtown area as the new commercial centers of Cairo, becoming home to designer stores, imported chain restaurants, and other international corporations (Beattie, 2005). These neighborhoods made for particularly rich case studies since they shared borders with three ‘popular’ neighborhoods – Bulaq al Daqrur, Mit Oqba, and Bein al-Sarayat – that were comprised of mostly working class and working poor residents.

My familiarity with both neighborhoods made convenience and snowball sampling methods the most feasible. Although I originally structured the interviews to include 39 questions, I quickly discovered that the lijan story emerged more naturally within an informal, semi-structured framework. By the third interview, I was more interested in description than causal explanations of the PCs. In general, the average interview ranged from 90 minutes to two hours. Almost all respondents began the informal session by tracing the trajectory of the lijan, from their first to last day of participation.

My interest, here, was to establish a case study on some of the neighborhood groups that emerged during instability. Taking a phenomenological perspective, I focused less on causal mechanisms of the PCs and more about describing how the events unfolded. And though the narrative that I tell may be applicable to PCs in other neighborhoods, my central aim has been to capture the complexity of PCs that emerged within the aforementioned neighborhoods. My only hope is that I have done their story justice.

Initial mobilization: Friday of Anger and experiences with theft

While nationwide protests began on 25 January, the 28th was the first of several days that reshaped the public’s pre-existing attitudes and perspectives on Mubarak’s regime. Aside from being a national and religious holiday, Friday the 28th became exceptional when hundreds of thousands of Egyptians went down to the streets and were heavily repressed by riot police. Most relevant to the emergence of PCs, it was also a day when rumors spread, security forces vanished from residential neighborhoods, and the baltagiyya (or ‘thugs’) – the antagonist of the PC narrative – descended onto the streets (Sandels, 2011).

For my interview respondents, the Friday of Anger was a day of conflict between protestors and the police. ‘It was the first time I smelled tear gas,’ one respondent told me. Regardless of whether one made it to Tahrir or not, the day is permanently engraved into the memory of Egyptians; it was the first time that some had directly faced the police and their vicious tactics.

Participants also witnessed theft, which became a crucial perquisite to the emergence of the PC. Most interviewees had personally witnessed the destruction of commercial stores, usually local businesses or chains owned by multinational corporations. Remarkably, half of my interview respondents intervened in an attempt to thwart further efforts at destruction. Two other participants watched from their balcony as windows were shattered and stores gutted of their merchandise.

Theft, if not witnessed from the security of a balcony or experienced on the ground through interventionist tactics, was heard of from various media sources. And because the communications blackout eliminated all but face-to-face interactions, the proliferation of rumors became particularly important in early PC formations. The most common rumor described the Minister of Interior releasing prisoners in order to instill a sense of chaos among the population and discourage Egyptians from marching to Tahrir (Bremer, 2011a). ⁴ For those future participants, these narratives became the most memorable precursors and, indeed, a catalyst for the formation of PCs. ⁵

By the next morning, news reports and rumors had evolved into calls for action made by politicians and respected leaders. Perhaps to their surprise, Egyptians had already gone down into the streets. The Friday of Anger had boiled down to a simmer, but it would take days of cooperation for residents to control their generalized feelings of anxiety. It was only through the establishment of a social network that participants were able to move onto the next stage of the PC experience.

From individuals to PCs: Creating a network

Before participants implemented checkpoints, shifts, and other routine practices, they first had to create networks of trust. Both my case study and Bremer’s (2011a) earlier research found little to no existing social bonds among residents of upper-middle class areas before the PCs emerged. In the absence of pre-existing social networks, residents chose to form new relationships, first with residents in their apartment buildings (1st degree of mobilization), then with neighbors on their street (2nd degree), and eventually with individuals across entire neighborhoods (3rd degree). I describe the extension of one’s social network in degrees since it was often through stages that individuals became confident enough to move beyond their street to other neighborhoods.

With communication channels disrupted, residents depended on word-of-mouth and landlines. Several participants first consulted friends before going down to the streets. They called, however, not to meet with those specific individuals, but to make sure that their friends in other parts of the neighborhood were also mobilizing. For the most part, however, individuals left their homes without a plan. They would stand immediately outside their buildings, defending their individual property with whatever weapons they had available. This was the first degree of familiarizing oneself to others on the street.

If defensive tactics were individualistic at first, it would not remain that way for long. The rate at which collective action would occur depended largely on the perceived and actual danger that each street confronted. That is, it was often anxiety that motivated participants to secure major intersections of their street and prevent looters and other outsiders from approaching their homes and cars. One participant did this by asking his fellow residents, without hesitation, ‘about the school [they went] to, [their] occupation, and where they lived.’ Specifically, individuals were primarily concerned with protecting banks, designer stores, supermarkets, and apartment buildings on their street. Conse-quently, and especially on larger streets, they chose not to stand immediately outside their homes and cars, and instead gravitated towards the more targeted areas and intersections: the second degree of familiarization had been established.

Due to one critical factor, residents were ultimately able to extend their networks a third time. Military officers, hoping to publicly strengthen their ties to the population, had emerged on the streets since the night of 28 January, but only in key commercial areas. By 2 February, however, they had begun to occupy most major intersections in Dokki and Mohandeseen. A military presence did more than alleviate the anxiety of participants; officers also became strategically useful since they would offer to apprehend suspects. Newly established networks of trust forced feelings of anxiety to subside.

Eventually, the decline of theft and presence of the military motivated participants to visit friends, family, and protestors in Tahrir and other neighborhoods. This, I describe, made for a more fluid organizational structure, where individuals were not forced to remain on patrol at their PCs and were able to visit and assist more at-risk PCs. With this new social fabric, participants collectively developed a common set of practices across PCs, such as monitoring checkpoints, detaining suspects, and sharing information.

Checkpoints and shifts: PC practices

The importance of space: Side and main streets

The physical, aesthetic, and symbolic aspects of the different streets rendered each PC experience unique. Early on, five factors made PCs on side and main streets distinct from one another: (1) initial experiences with theft; the role of (2) the muezzin ⁷ and (3) doormen (bawabeen) in calling residents to action; (4) the role of women in providing information and nourishment on side streets; and (5) the insulation of side streets by larger streets.

Even on the 28th, we can observe a difference between main and side street PCs. Initial experiences with theft were more common among residents of larger, more commercial streets. If we were to accept that it was the Interior Ministry that hired the baltagiyya to instill fear among the general population, then we would assume they could only achieve their objective by targeting the most visible of public spaces. Sure enough, looting and destruction seemed most pervasive, according to rumors, on well-known commercial streets. As economic epicenters of the neighborhood, main streets presumably appeared to be the most attractive for plundering. On side streets, the experience was at least one degree removed. None of the residents interviewed from side streets mentioned theft on their own street, but they did bring up conflicts on other streets and even neighborhoods. The symbolic significance of larger streets made them the primary targets of the state-sponsored criminal activity, and might have affected the perceptions, early decisions, and later practices of participants on both types of streets.

Aside from the Friday of Anger, participants from side streets experienced unique mobilization processes. The muezzin, for example, played an influential role in mobilization by announcing through the mosque’s loudspeaker the imminent dangers that residents were about to confront. He called on residents to come down to protect their cars, homes, and family from the approaching baltagiyya; never once was their a similar call from mosques on the main streets in this study. Although main streets in this study did have several mosques, never once was there a similar call from the mosque to mobilize. There are at least two reasons that the mosque’s role in mobilizing was entirely absent in the larger streets. First, the mosque was neither physically nor symbolically central to main, commercial streets. Although not the case in all neighborhoods in Cairo, mosques on the main streets in this study were limited to smaller ones that were part of residential buildings rather than their own separate structure. Second, the length, width, and shape of the street could make it difficult for one muezzin to communicate effectively to residents. Even without the confusion that could have emerged if multiple mosques began making announcements simultaneously, it is unlikely that participants on the main streets could audibly make out the muezzin’s words. It is possible that the mosque, as a potential mobilizing mechanism, was present only in places where effective communication between the muezzin and residents could occur.

While calls for mobilization by religious figures were being made, doormen – of individual apartment buildings on side streets – were simultaneously notifying residents to go down to the streets. In Egypt, doormen’s responsibility and function consists of more than receiving guests. Some deliver goods, such as food or day-to-day necessities, to their residents. Noteworthy here, however, is their defensive role: they are responsible for protecting residents. And more often than not, the doorman lives in a quasi-public courtyard or hallway way in front of or inside the residential building. A doorman, then, need not be altruistic in his intentions; his incentive to protect and notify residents of a looming danger may hinge on the fact that, in the event of an intrusion, he would be the first to meet the potential suspect, endangering his personal wellbeing and that of his family. On the Friday of Anger, after hearing about the rampant theft, doormen called on their residents, through intercom systems, to come down and protect their building with any weapons they had. But the importance of doormen goes beyond the security that they provided: ‘the boabeen have strong networks within any given area, whereas the residents of these neighborhoods do not know each other, even within a single building’ (Bremer, 2011a: 23). Despite the resources available, doormen in my study played a more influential role on side streets, whereas Bremer reports no difference.

Of course, one need not be physically present on the streets to contribute to PC activities. Though the discussion of gender, which plays a large role in the PC narrative, is beyond the scope of this article, it is important to mention the presence of women during the 15 days. When asking interviewees about the role of women in the PCs and the possible theories on why they did not go down to the streets, I was told that they ‘did not belong,’ or ‘would not know how to handle the weapons.’ The critique provides a glimpse of how participants viewed PCs: if you were not physically present in the street, you were considered to have no role. On side streets, however, this was not the case. Early on, and at a time when most communication networks were down, women would announce the latest developments in Tahrir from their balconies. Such information could have fostered solidarity between demonstrators in Tahrir and residents in PCs. Women also provided food, sweets, and tea to men at checkpoints – usually delivered by children. On main streets however, ‘there were simply too many men and too wide streets to send down anything.’ The size of most main streets made the role of women even less visible.

Aside from the different roles played, side and main streets’ practices differed because of the relative physical dimensions of each. Main streets essentially insulated side streets from nearby neighborhoods that were deemed ‘dangerous’ by residents. Side street participants went from standing outside their apartment buildings (1st degree) to standing at major intersections (2nd degree) where their streets met larger ones. The absence of alleyways between each end of a side street reduces the number of potential entrance points for intruders. Main streets, on the other hand, had to face not only alleyways, but several major intersections as well. Residents on major streets would have to first establish a network of trusted neighbors before they would move beyond the immediate vicinity of their homes. When networks of trust and friendship extended beyond one’s street, however, these early social processes – of creating a network – changed, as did the experiences on each type of street.

As military tanks rolled out into the neighborhoods, side and main streets developed quite differently. Some of these distinctions emerged early on, but became more relevant because either (a) the PC became more routinized or (b) the military presence affected the practices and perceived threat of theft. Since soldiers strategically occupied only the most targeted locations, they largely ignored side street PCs and consequently affected their practices. Most commonly, the latter faced considerable difficulty when trying to deal with captured suspects. With police refusing to take in suspected criminals, army personnel became the de facto authority figures. Yet, side streets learned how to deal with intruders as they encountered them, and often exchanged information about the most recent crimes, took advice, and waited for assistance from the main street PCs. Participants from both types of streets would also congregate at the intersections and sometimes created a checkpoint with members from both streets. Despite their different experiences, participants from side and main street PCs were brought together and depended on communication with one another in order to survive.

From street to street: Communication and miscommunication

The communication methods used by participants varied throughout the 15 days of PC activity, as well as during and after the media blackout (28 January– 2 February). When cell phone networks and (some) landlines were unavailable, participants within and across PCs used face-to-face interaction on the streets, from balconies, and through intercom systems and mosque loudspeakers to exchange information and rumors, keep each other alert, and debate. As the military – and in some instances the police – became omnipresent, participants used walkie-talkies, cell phones, and other aforementioned communication methods to notify officers of potential suspects and internal PC conflicts. And while PCs did become more fluid following the return of communication technologies, it was the military presence that gave many residents the confidence to visit friends and family by roaming away from their own PC and neighborhood. Whether out of boredom or a necessity to ensure the safety of a loved one, the process of roaming provided an opportunity for residents to transcend the narrow territorialism that was once confined them to individual streets.

However, in a time of great uncertainty and anxiety, communication within, across, and outside of PCs was not always effective. The earliest participants were often mistreated by their own neighbors when they attempted to communicate with them. ‘They thought [that] we were [the] thieves,’ a participant told me in disbelief, ‘they threw bottles [from their balconies] and cursed at us!’ Miscommunication, however, also positively affected PC activity. For when residents responded to hearsay, they did more than spread seemingly innocuous rumors and ‘false alarms’; they allowed for the diffusion of anxiety across entire neighborhoods. It was, therefore, communication and miscommunication that led to the rapid mobilization and expansion of PCs. And yet, it was the latter of the two that was most effective at rationalizing PC policing methods and discriminatory practices.

Establishing the enemy: The construction of the baltagy

On 28 January, as face-to-face interactions and televised reports of looting fueled the spread of rumors, official media sources and residents quickly created an image of the suspected enemy: they were either hired by the state or released from prisons to instill chaos, or acted independently simply to take advantage of a security vacuum. Regardless of motivations, the baltagy character was deeply embedded within these unverified narratives and participants’ firsthand encounters. Inspiring in equal parts anxiety and courage, these stories quickly became one of the primary incentives to mobilize on the 28th.

But ‘baltagy’ was socially constructed in and developed through both popular and state discourses decades prior to the revolution. Translating into ‘he who bears an axe,’ the term’s use in everyday discourse has gone far beyond its Turkish origins. Decades prior to the revolution, the baltagiyya often referred to strongmen hired by the regime to physically and sexually harass political dissidents (Amar, 2012). During the revolution, however, the term was a rhetorical weapon used by both the regime and protestors, with each side calling the other anti-progressive thugs (Iskandar, 2011). For PC participants specifically, the elusive description of the baltagy rendered him ⁸ the perfect enemy. The nimble definition made baltagy a convenient term to describe an unknown ‘other’ in times of great confusion and instability while simultaneously fostering a neighborhood-level territorialism that was essential to the formation of PCs. And yet, participants did not consciously ask themselves, ‘How will we know a baltagy when we see one?’ In our own quest in understanding the PC’s enemy, however, we must begin with this question.

The PCs’ final days: Demobilization

The PC experience can be divided into an early, unpredictable and later, more routinized phase. Though calling even the later days of the PC ordinary may elicit criticism, we must not forget its original function: to fill in the security vacuum left by a negligent state. Indeed, in only a few days, and partially because of the military’s presence, participants would be quite successful in their central objective. Residents quickly became accustomed to their once-experimental practices, such as securing checkpoints, shouting ‘wake up,’ establishing barricades, and carrying arms. PCs became an ‘ordinary’ aspect of everyday life during 18 days of revolution.

Participants transitioned and adapted their behavior once the tanks appeared and looting subsided. At checkpoints, especially during the overnight shifts, their primary objective became less about looking out for baltagiyya and more about ‘having fun, going out, and passing the time.’ As friends gathered at each other’s PC, one could find them playing games, taking walks to nearby PCs, sharing jokes and stories, visiting cafes, and listening to music. Indeed, one could refer to such activities as the ‘Politics of Fun’, where fun is ‘an array of ad hoc, nonroutine, and joyful conducts,’ that counters the now routine, though still political, features of PCs (Bayat, 2007: 434). The very act of occupying one’s streets and stopping others from getting in, including police officers, rendered the PCs political up until the final day. Yet, these concluding moments are more likely to have been remembered for their leisurely activities than the more functional practices performed earlier.

Eventually, boredom from these later activities and exhaustion from the earlier ones led to the gradual decline in participation. For the younger participants, a less dangerous PC also meant a less eventful one. By 10 February, the eve of Mubarak’s resignation, residents who had been patrolling Mohandeseen and Dokki for more than two weeks, were exhausted. A participant agreed, insisting, ‘we were of course tired! This wasn’t our duty or responsibility, so we were actually relieved to go back up to our homes and rest.’ Exhaustion was understandable considering the fact that ordinary Egyptians had practically rendered their own security forces obsolete, albeit with the help of the military.

But the latter quickly became an active force that dissuaded residents’ from continuing to protect their streets. One day before Mubarak’s resignation, officers told some PC participants, ‘you could go home now, your work is done.’ Indeed, this became a common theme among many streets. With the military taking over Tahrir Square, and with Mubarak out, it was assumed that order on the streets would ‘naturally’ return. It was perhaps the ‘hero’ status of the military – acquired after they chose to defend protestors in Tahrir rather than side with police forces – that made their calls for demobilization so convincing.

Conclusion

To Bremer (2011a: 4) and many others, the PC narrative ‘demonstrated that Egyptian society can and will mobilize to pursue aims perceived as important.’ For a brief moment during the 2011 Egyptian revolution, ordinary people – previously apolitical or politically marginalized individuals – went down to the streets and revealed their extraordinary ability to temporarily replace Egypt’s most notorious institution – one that had been carefully crafted by Mubarak for 30 years. For those early observers – those eyewitnesses to the theft so prevalent during 28 January – the Friday of Anger was only one side of the story; the other half would unfold as they made their way home from Tahrir. The proliferation of rumors and firsthand accounts of shattering windows, the wielding of firearms, and opportunistic seizure of practically any material goods proved to be an incendiary situation during the 18 days of the revolution. And yet, one block at a time, participants would earn the trust of their neighbors. Coercion, however, was not the primary strategy used to mobilize and sustain participation within the PCs. Rather, by establishing accountability structures, friends and neighbors came to expect those who were not journeying to Tahrir to protect their own neighborhoods. Whether they established formal shifts or not, participants would never leave the streets unguarded. Before these networks were established, however, residents responded to a looming danger through individualistic tactics. Having already constructed the enemy in one’s mind, and with help of a prepackaged discourse on the baltagiyya, participants thought to beat (sometimes literally) suspects by using their own weapon: physical intimidation.

Indeed, spatial and social mobility were, in large part, the prerogatives of middle class residents. The checkpoints were not simply spaces for stories and rumors, but also for screening and exclusion. Individuals who resided in Cairo’s popular neighborhoods were practically forced to stay within its limits. If these individuals were filled with the same curiosity that had allowed residents from upscale neighborhoods to visit friends and join demonstrations in Tahrir, they would quickly pay the price. Their diction, choice of clothing, and general appearance was enough to render them the enemy of the PC. With passwords established at checkpoints, and because practically all participants knew each other early on, it would not take long for outsiders to be recognized. Even when a resident was regarded as a baltagy (usually without any evidence), he was dismissed during debates and suspiciously observed at checkpoints. ‘Once a baltagy, always a baltagy,’ the logic went. But instead of simply rebuking PCs in middle class neighborhoods for their practices of exclusion –as discriminating as they were – it has been more productive to see how, through the discursive and aesthetic construction of the baltagy, participants had managed to create a convenient system for policing streets that had only recently been abandoned. And what better way is there to unify the residents of a street than to manufacture a territorially delimited solidarity? Presumably, it was the combination of participants’ inexperience and their reliance on state-sponsored rumors that led to the convenient appropriation of the baltagiyya concept from state and popular discourses. Eventually, however, as threats proved to be less imminent, residents relaxed their practices at the checkpoints.

The military’s decision to send personnel to the most strategic streets alleviated residents’ initial anxiety and made possible the expansion of PCs. This, as we have seen, led to diverging experiences and practices for those participants on more residential side streets. But regardless of the spatial differences, PCs on all streets were transforming, quite rapidly, into more banal and routinized entities. Soccer matches, endless roaming, and laughter filled the air once inundated by gunpowder and shouting. For those who had first mobilized during the early days of the PCs, exhaustion and boredom gradually sapped the energy that had previously seemed to be in infinite supply. As the waning power of Mubarak’s regime was being appropriated and salvaged by the rising military, residents found less reason to stand out in the streets. After all, the very emergence of the PC phenomenon was a response to the de facto collapse of the state’s security apparatus. Rather than continue to exercise their new and extraordinary politics, however, participants accommodated and gained confidence in a state not too different from the one Mubarak had left behind.