Friendly Fire by Alaa Aswany (best books to read for students .TXT) 📕

without the slightest embarrassment or sense of guilt, a long article in which he deliberately confused me with the hero of the story, using this confusion as a base from which to accuse me of despising my country and of being infatuated with the West.

This is the history of the book that you are holding in your hands, which I wanted you to know before you start reading it. I am confident that the majority of readers will understand that literary characters always possess an existence independent of the writer. As for those who would hold me to account for the opinions of the hero and consider me responsible for them, I repeat to them, with respect, what Dello Strologo, the owner of the Italian cinema said one day to his audience: “This screen is just a piece of cloth, on which images are reflected. In a short while, you are going to see a speeding train…. Remember, gentlemen, that this is only an image of a train, and can therefore do you no harm.”

The Isam Abd el-Ati Papers

1

If I weren’t Egyptian, I would want to be Egyptian.

—Mustafa Kamil*

I HAVE CHOSEN THIS SAYING as the first words of these papers of mine because they are, in my opinion, the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. They represent (assuming that the one who said them really meant them) the sort of stupid tribal loyalty that makes my blood boil every time I think of it. What if the good Mustafa Kamil had been born Chinese, for example, or Indian? Would he not have repeated the same phrase out of pride in his Chinese or Indian nationality? And can such pride have any value if it’s the outcome of coincidence? And if Mustafa Kamil could choose—of his own conscious volition, as he would have us believe—to be Egyptian, there would have to be important reasons to make him so choose. He would have to find in the Egyptian people some virtues not to be found in any other. What, then, might such virtues be? Are the Egyptians distinguished by, for example, their seriousness and love of work, like the Germans or the Japanese? Do they love risk-taking and change, like the Americans? Do they honor history and the arts, like the French and the Italians? They have no such distinguishing characteristics. What then does distinguish the Egyptians? What are their virtues? I challenge anyone to cite me a single Egyptian virtue. Cowardice and hypocrisy, underhandedness and cunning, laziness and spite—these are our characteristics as Egyptians. And because we know the truth about ourselves, we cover it over with a lot of shouting and lies—empty, ringing slogans that we repeat day in day out about our ‘great’ Egyptian people. And the sad thing is that we’ve repeated these lies so often we’ve ended up believing them. Indeed—and this is truly amazing—we’ve arranged these lies about ourselves as songs and anthems. Have you heard of any other people in the world doing such a thing? Do the English, for example, sing, Ah England, O Land of Ours! Your earth is of marble made, your dust with musk and amber laid? Such banalities are an integral part of our makeup. Imagine, in the reader set for Second Year Elementary, I read the following words: “God loves Egypt very much and talked about her in His Noble Book. This is why He has blessed her with our lovely clement climate, summer and winter, and why He protects her from the wiles of her enemies.”

See the tissue of lies that they stuff into children’s heads? That “lovely clement climate” of ours is in fact hell. Seven months from March to October the searing heat roasts our skins until the beasts expire and the asphalt on the streets melts under the blazing sole of the sun—and still we thank God for our beautiful climate! And again, if God protects Egypt from the wiles of her enemies, as they claim, how come we’ve been occupied by every people on Earth? The history of Egypt is in reality nothing but a continuous series of defeats inflicted upon us by all the nations of the world, starting with the Romans and going all the way to the Jews.

All these stupidities get on my nerves, and what annoys me even more is that we—we pitiful Egyptians—like to bathe in the reflected glory of the pharaohs. Under the pharaohs, the Egyptians formed a truly great nation, but what have we to do with them? We are the corrupt, indeterminate outcome of the miscegenation of the conquerors’ troops with their captives from the defeated population. The Egyptian peasant whose land was violated and manhood dishonored at the hands of the conquerors for centuries on end lost everything that linked him to his great ancestors, and from his long acquaintance with humiliation he came to feel at ease with it, surrendered to it, and over time acquired the mentality of a servant. Try to recall the few truly courageous Egyptians you have met in your life. The Egyptian, no matter how high he has risen or how well educated he has become, will cringe before you if you are the stronger, smiling to your face and buttering you up while he hates you and tries to bring about your downfall by some foolproof covert means that will cost him neither confrontation nor danger. A mere servant, that’s your Egyptian. I hate the Egyptians and I hate Egypt. I hate it with all my heart and hope it gets even worse and more wretched. Even though I take care to hide this hatred (to avoid stupid problems), sometimes I can’t keep it in. Once, at the house of one of my colleagues, I was watching a soccer match between Egypt and an African country called Zaire, and when the African player scored the winning goal, I yelled out loud with joy while the others expressed their disapproval at my happiness at our defeat. I