LEGO portrait of Ahmed Maher by Ai Weiwei.
Activist Ahmed Maher is a cofounder of Egypt’s April 6 Youth Movement, which spearheaded the demonstrations that ultimately led to the deposition of President Mubarak in February 2011. Maher is a civil engineer who has worked for construction firms in New Cairo. He earned a 2011 Nobel Peace Prize nomination for his work toward democratic reform.
A longtime activist in the fight for human rights, Maher was first arrested in 2006, during a sit-in protesting state interference with the judiciary. Two years later, Maher and fellow activist Esraa Abdel Fattah launched a Facebook group to promote a day of civil disobedience, calling for textile workers to stay home on April 6, 2008, to protest low wages and soaring food prices. The group quickly grew to more than seventy thousand members, evolving into what would become known as the April 6 Youth Movement. Following the protest, Maher began planning another demonstration, targeting the date May 4, 2008—President Mubarak’s 80th birthday. In retaliation for his involvement in organizing these demonstrations, Maher was arrested on May 7, 2008, in New Cairo, where he was stripped and beaten while detained. Maher was again arrested and released in late July after speaking to local and international media about his detention and torture at the hands of state security. In June 2010, Maher helped organize a protest after Khaled Said, a young resident of Alexandria, was killed by Egyptian police.
In November 2013, Egypt adopted a new “Protest Law” designed to severely restrict freedom of assembly. Along with activists Ahmed Douma and Mohamed Adel, Maher was among the first to be charged with breaching the law in a protest against it. On December 22, 2013, together with Douma and Adel, Maher was sentenced to three years in prison and fined fifty thousand Egyptian pounds. A statement issued on behalf of the UN Secretary-General Ban Ki-moon characterized the international reaction to the Egyptian crackdown: “Under the controversial new law regulating protests, three prominent democracy and human rights activists were sentenced to three years in prison on Sunday . . . The Secretary-General views these actions, in restricting Egyptians’ political space, as contrary to the spirit of Egypt’s revolution nearly three years ago, when calls for freedom and democracy motivated Egyptians to take to the streets so courageously and decisively.”
On January 4, 2017, after enduring unusually harsh prison conditions, Maher was freed, having completed his three-year sentence. However, under the terms of his release, for the next three years he is required to spend half of each day—from 6 P.M. to 6 A.M.—in lockdown at the local police station, a form of probation aimed at creating a precarious sense of freedom and stifling future activism.
When it became clear that Maher could not receive the hundreds of Yours Truly postcards intended for him, visitors to @Large were invited to record audio messages instead, which were played for Maher during his incarceration.
The first of the following two texts was written by Ahmed Maher during his imprisonment in Torah Prison in 2014, and it documents the profound sense of powerlessness he felt at the hands of his jailers. The second, produced by Maher shortly after his 2017 release, is a brief but complex reflection on the hopes that spawned the April 6 Youth Movement, the personal toll of his activism, and the strength that the messages from Yours Truly inspired.
“These are the orders.” This is a statement that I hear excessively on a daily basis, until it has become as common as “good morning” or “good night.”
I spend twenty-two hours a day looking at the ceiling of the cell. And when I try to make a change to break the boredom in these twenty-two hours, I look at the metal ceiling of the two-level bunk bed or I stare at the power outlets. Alternatively, I might listen to the sound of water dripping all night, and sometimes I fall asleep.
A bunk bed. It is true that this is the first time I have slept on a bed with a mattress in prison, for the six times I have been arrested before—from 2005 to 2013—I was in prisons of lesser means. In the past, I slept on the floor; now, I sleep on a bed with a mattress and even a pillow, but I am alone twenty hours of the day.
AlTareed is the time that the inmates go out to play sports, walk, or talk to people, whether inmates, staff, or officers. Throughout my first two weeks here, all twenty-four hours were spent in solitary confinement. I would ask “Am I not going to go out for AlTareed!?” They would reply “No, not until eleven days have passed, and because you left and returned under different charges, they will be counted from the beginning.” I would ask, “Well, why can I not go after the first fifteen days? Why not now?” He would look at me, disregarding my question, and reply, “These are the orders.” That was the answer!!!
The first fifteen days passed extremely slowly. Magazines, books, and writing were prohibited, and of course there was no television or radio. I sat alone for twenty-four hours a day in the prison cell, staring at its boundaries, the paint, the ground, the door, the windows, the socket outlets, the tap . . . until I had memorized them.
Finally, the solitary cell was opened. I greeted Alaa Abdel Fattah, and teased Ahmed Douma, who was still serving his eleven days of solitary confinement. Two hours later, they told us AlTareed time was over.
“Why is it over? Only two hours? Why is it only two hours?”
“These are the orders!”
“We used to have AlTareed time until sunset. Whatever happened to that? In Torah Prison in 2006, in Borg al-Arab Prison in 2008, and in al-Arab prison in 2013 . . . ”
“That was a long time ago, when President Morsi was around.”
“That was President Mubarak’s time, before Morsi—and they can both go to hell. Why only two hours??!!”
“These are the orders!”
“The prison policy says all day. Also, we want televisions and radios and MP3s. We want to send letters.”
“There is none of that here!”
“Why??!!”
“These are the orders.”
“We had all of those things when we were detained before. Where are they?”
“Listen, Ahmed. The circumstances are different. We are in different times now, and this prison is not like other prisons.”
“What do you mean? Other prisons have these things!”
“You are not in just any prison. Times and circumstances are different. You must understand this. Besides, this prison is cleaner than any other prison. You are in a clean place and you have your own mattress, blanket, pillow, and toilet, and all is well.”
“I know that this place is cleaner than other prisons, and there are no insects in the cells. I have tried other prisons and I know. But over there, there were also televisions and radios, and I would walk around all day and see people and speak to them. And at the same time, the other inmates also had these things.”
“Listen Ahmed, these are the orders. The circumstances are different, and you and your friends are not like other inmates.”
The days pass slowly, and the hours pass slowly. I spend the twenty-two hours looking at the ceiling, the door, the windows, and the boundaries of the cell. I listen to the water dripping at night, and sometimes I sleep.
It is true that there are not the thousands of cockroaches, insects, and rats, as there were in Torah Prison in 2006. But there is nothing—no people, no sound, no television, no radio—nothing. Even the insects, cockroaches, and rats used to be some form of entertainment. You could keep yourself entertained trying to catch them.
And the phrase “these are the orders” repeats without justification, followed by intense arguments. May God forgive me . . . God damn the orders. For the last time, I am not from the [Muslim] Brotherhood. I want to shave my beard. I have the right to shave my beard.
And after long hours of arguments, finally they agree to allow shaving blades.
“Alright then, now let us have television or radio or MP3s. We want to listen to the news.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“These are the orders.”
The usual reply. Damn the orders!!
There are no rules that prevent them; these minor things are common in any other prison. It is the right of an inmate to be out all day and see people and speak to them. There is nothing that prohibits television or radio or MP3s.
While I was alone in solitary confinement, I heard the music of the singers Umm Kulthum and Fairuz. I listened closely and enjoyed it. Wow! Who is the lucky son of a gun who has a radio? After days of struggling and arguing, they finally allowed Ahmed Douma to bring in a radio, but only AM. FM is prohibited. Only one frequency.
“Is the radio working for you, Douma?”
“No, it isn’t picking up anything.”
“Sir, we want FM radio. We want to listen to the news. It is our right.”
“Prohibited.”
“Why?”
“These are the orders.”
“These strange orders of yours. The AM radio isn’t picking up anything, only noise. Just to say that you allowed us some form of radio?”
Struggles and arguments lasting days over things that should be basic rights (books, letters, meetings, seeing the other inmates all day). Alright, let us be together instead of in solitary confinement. Television, radio, MP3s—these things were normal in the days of Mubarak and of Morsi.
What a boring detention!! So not only do I get [sentenced to] three years, but I am also deprived, kept in solitary confinement, barely able to see anyone, no way to follow the news!! All of this!! All of this because I opposed the Protest Law??
Damn the orders and whoever gave the orders. No one knows who gave the orders anyway, or why they want to deprive us further in our three years of prison??!!!!
Ahmed Maher
January 19, 2014
Egyptian protesters in Tahrir Square during a mass rally marking the first anniversary of the uprising, Cairo, January 25, 2012.
In 2008, we [the founders of what came to be known as the April 6 Youth Movement] were inspired by many models of social change, such as the revolutions and social movements in South America and Eastern Europe—those that had taken place in Chile, the Czech Republic, Serbia, Ukraine, Georgia, and especially Poland. We followed all these movements, reading and learning a lot about the various revolutions.
At that time, revolution was not our main goal. Our goal was to make a change, to create a better life for people, to foster democracy under a new regime that would respect human rights. We considered revolutionary action to be a tool, rather than a goal, so we started by encouraging people to join us, to say no to the government, and to be more active.
We used Facebook as a platform for the Youth Movement in order to attract new people to our group and to mobilize them with our messages. It was still a somewhat new website at that time. Social media was an important tool, but again, it was just a tool. The more important thing is the message you are trying to share, and how and when this message is spread. I think one difference between the success of that time and the failure [of today’s activists] is that now the ruling regime understands the game and can do the same thing. They have a lot of electronic groups to defend any activity of the president. Now they are using social media against us.
Before this movement, I was arrested and spent three months in the prison, so I expected violence. But the police followed us a lot—me more than anyone else—before the revolution. It has not been easy for me and my colleagues in the Youth Movement to have any rights inside of prison. From the beginning, the security forces used torture against us, as well as smearing our reputations. The conditions for any political prisoner are very bad—worse than those of a prisoner who is being held on criminal charges. But because they considered me to be the head of this movement, they put me under constant monitoring, searching my cell and destroying everything, violating my rights. They prevented me from having letters, books, or newspapers, which was within my rights. They were watching all the time, and it was difficult to visit the doctor or have any medical care inside the prison.
On a personal level, my activism has made my life unstable. I have been arrested many times and have spent three years in prison, so I don’t have a stable life like an ordinary person. And my children’s lives are also unstable. There have been a lot of rumors about me that are untrue, a lot of fake stories and conspiracy theories. My activism has also affected my mother and father, my wife, and my job. Everything is difficult after this kind of activism.
Now, with the conditions of my release, I am under surveillance and need to stay twelve hours of every day in the police station, in a cell like those in a prison. I’m not allowed to stay in my home in the evening, not allowed to travel outside of Cairo, not allowed to attend evening lectures at a university, not allowed to use the internet in the evening, and I experience a lot of monitoring. I heard about the surveillance Ai Weiwei was under following his release from detention—that his freedom was not complete freedom. Now, the conditions of my release are somewhat similar, and I can imagine that he felt like I do now.
In this time after prison, I cannot determine what I have gained, but we tried. We tried, and we will be continually trying. One thing that helps me to stay and continue my activism is that there are a lot of people who respect my efforts, and there are a lot of people who have tried to help. There is a lot backing up the regime, but people will always try to find a solution. They have the same dream, and I cannot betray them. I cannot betray my supporters, my friends, or my followers. I cannot betray my brothers, or my family, or the people who have trusted me. I need to keep up my efforts and keep my faith. Yes, it’s not easy—especially after prison, under surveillance—but I am trying to recover and continue again.
Ai Weiwei’s efforts have helped me a lot. When I first heard of Ai Weiwei’s project @Large, I didn’t know all the details. When I began to understand the story from inside prison—when I heard what he had done for my friends and I—it was a good feeling. I was surprised that someone in another country very far from me cared about my situation and supported me. It’s given me a lot of support and it helped me to stay alone in solitary confinement. It’s a very important question: How we can continue to try to help other prisoners of conscience who are enduring the same conditions in other countries? How can we give strength to other prisoners around the world, to help them face torture and corruption? The situation can be depressing for prisoners, so it’s something we must continue to think about.
To be in solitary confinement is very bad. There is no one to talk to, no one to complain to, no one who can listen to you, no one who can say, “I am sorry for you.” During my time at Torah Prison, the authorities didn’t allow any postcards for the prisoners, so I didn’t get the cards from Yours Truly. But voice messages, recorded by the visitors to @Large, were smuggled to me, and I was able to secretly listen to them inside the prison. I heard many of these messages, and they gave me a lot of support and helped me a lot. It was amazing that, when I was in solitary confinement, living alone for three years, I heard voice messages from people—I didn’t know them, but they were supporting me. They had heard about me through @Large, and they encouraged my efforts, saying to me, “Keep on pushing, and keep your faith. Continue your efforts. It’s very important.” I received these messages during a very bad time of punishment in the prison, so when I heard them, it gave me a lot of support. When I knew that there were people around the world who knew about me and were supporting me, I thought, “I can stand, and I can be stronger.”
Can you imagine that when the authorities visited me after midnight, following an illegal search and illegal punishment inside my cell, they said to me, “No one remembers you. No one cares about you, so you need to obey.” Then, two or three days after that, I received these audio messages from Yours Truly. These voice messages from people outside Egypt, they saved me.
How can I do that for another prisoner? I think about that now.
Ahmed Maher
April 2017
Ahmed Maher participating in a discussion at the official launch of United Nations Human Rights Day at the Ford Foundation, New York, December 10, 2012.
A selection of Yours Truly postcards addressed to Ahmed Maher
