Egypt's revolutionary street artists silenced by new military dictatorship

finally stepped down. This was a time when Egyptians forgot their ethnic, religious and social differences to come together as one, demanding social justice for all. Graffiti was just one of the many forms of expression released as ordinary people found their voices. After years of enforced silence, they rushed to express themselves in political debate, via social media and on the walls of towns and cities all over Egypt.

Although he rejects the activist label, Ganzeer played a huge role in encouraging the use of street art as a revolutionary tool. In January 2012, when it appeared that the military council who governed Egypt after Mubarak’s downfall was resisting protestors’ demands, Ganzeer launched Mad Graffiti Week with this declaration: “Our only hope right now is to destroy the military council using the weapon of art. From January 13 to 25, the streets of Egypt will see an explosion of anti-military street art. If you are a street artist elsewhere in the world, please do what you can in your city to help us.” His call was answered in spectacular fashion, but the ensuing graffiti mobilisation was just one of many efforts that eventually helped to achieve official elections later in the year.

Ganzeer was one of several artists who rose to prominence and became recognised internationally, but all Egyptians who wrote, stencilled on walls, defaced propaganda posters or wrote on army tanks with permanent markers played a role in the revolution by making their voices heard. Basma Hamdy, co-author of revolutionary street art anthology Walls of Freedom, says graffiti provided some of the most important social commentary. “Street art raised awareness,” she says. “It asked difficult questions and exposed truths, becoming a key tool for empowering citizens. The insistence by artists to remain in the street for days and months on end to communicate their message is what I found remarkable.”

Caram Kapp looks back on that period with considerable nostalgia. “Tahrir had the carnivalesque atmosphere of a people who were in revolt and enjoying it,” Caram wrote afterwards. “There was freedom of speech and assembly, camaraderie and food. After thirty years of leaving the rest of Egypt outside as soon as they entered their flats, people came together in this place to celebrate values and rights they barely even remembered under Mubarak’s dictatorship.”

But three years later, the revolutionary movement that toppled one of the Middle East’s longest-serving dictators seems to have ground to a halt. Mohammed Morsi of the Muslim Brotherhood became Egypt’s first democratically elected president in 2012, only to succeed in alienating growing numbers of Egyptians through actions that were perceived as autocratic and a betrayal of the democratic ideals of the revolution. After more street demonstrations, Morsi was deposed in a military coup led by General Sisi in July 2013. Today, the public euphoria that erupted in Tahrir Square is absent and the military are back in power; as this magazine goes to press, the interim government has resigned. No one is quite sure what to make of the current situation but many are asking if anything has been achieved.