Guilt

I don't have any memories of that day, not even one. They are all audience memories, memories that everyone else has. On that day, on October 9, 2011 I was part of حزب الكنبة. I woke up in the morning not knowing that there will be a protest happening in a few hours, and not even imagining that on that day 27 pure souls will be taken. It was only when I was leaving work that I figured out that something was wrong through Twitter, but that thing was not even a disaster, it's something that happens everyday to many protests. I only knew that there was a Coptic protest going from Shubra to Maspero against the endless sectarian strife incidents, and some thugs with beards, or so they say, threw rocks at them, but that's our normal. I got home and the disaster began, and I watched it on air, all on air. But by that time, watching people die live on air had also become our normal.

I remember nothing because my mind stopped. They say Maspero and I see the face of the girl crying over the body of her fiance, or should I say corpse? I hear nothing but the sound of her tears. I feel nothing but agony. You'd think our hearts have stopped feeling any pain, that they've become pain proof, but the amount of pain that we carry, that increases everyday is beyond what words can explain. I wasn't part of this, I saw nothing and did noting more than any other audience have done, and I don't feel guilty for it, I know very well that this was above my abilities. But this doesn't mean that I'm not in pain or that I don't feel guilty, I feel guilty and am in great pain because those people died, for a certain cause and we're going far from it rather than closer to it.

They lost their lives because they dreamed of a country where they could live safely, having the few rights that their fellow Egyptians are enjoying. They died because they weren't scared to speak up and say that a problem exists, because they went an extra step and demanded it to be solved. They lost their lives, their families lost them and other had to live with a disability and nothing happened, at all. In fact, things got worse, and they keep getting worse. Churches are being brought down, cases of blasphemy are the daily news, Christians are forcibly migrated from their homes or towns, their few rights are stolen from them with every passing day. What does our Islamic government do to all this? Nothing, it's taking part in it.

If I feel guilty it's because they died for nothing, because we're still here and we're doing nothing about it. They gave their lives for just a small part of what had happened in the past year, they were not afraid to die for a smaller fight. And we? We're still here and we're doing nothing but watching the strife getting bigger and bigger with every passing day. We do nothing but pray for our martyrs, cry over churches, live with blasphemy cases that are never-ending and we just sit and watch. Yes, the memory of army tanks driving over people is heartbreaking even if I only saw it on TV, but what burns me inside is where we are today, October 9, 2012, one year after a massacre, but in truth we've gone back a thousand years.

The questions remain: why did they die in vain? Why wasn't anyone punished? Why haven't anything changed? Or maybe it should be why are matters getting worse? Why aren't we doing anything about it? But then again, the question that should be asked is why did we really give up? But yes, at least we still remember, and the revolution is still breathing, even if they're very small breaths, it hasn't died, and will not.

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