Our supporters would praise me, and in the streets fans would come and greet me, as the man who stood against the Muslim Brotherhood. “You had a big role in this revolution,” they would tell me. “If it wasn’t for you and your show, people would not have figured them out. You showed us their true side.”
Many of the older generation would greet me and then slam me with a precautionary warning: “Now, don’t go and do the same to Sissi. He is different.”
I didn’t like that some people thought of me as a mercenary who would cherry-pick whom I used my satire on. The fact that I was an equal opportunity offender was lost on people. They liked satire as long as it was on their side.
I was a regular contributor to a weekly column in a popular newspaper called Al Shorouk. I wrote an article warning people that we were replacing religious fascism with nationalistic fascism. I was so naive to think that writing about love and coexistence, and learning from those who’d made hatred and extremism their way of life, would make people wake up and accept basic human values. You know, like being human. But people were just too angry and too on edge to accept reason, let alone satire. We were living our own version of the Roman Coliseum, where the only shout that was welcomed was “Kill, kill, kill.”
I called for a meeting with everyone involved in the show—Tarek, Amr, and the board governing our production company.
I was under so much stress trying to decide what to do next. How could I come back on-air? What could I make fun of? I couldn’t make fun of the Muslim Brotherhood anymore; they were either jailed or dead. And I would be screwed over if I remotely touched those in power now. I couldn’t even label what had happened as a coup, not even jokingly.
So I made my mind up and told them I wanted out. I didn’t want to do the show anymore. Many of the people who were waiting for the show’s return were not waiting for it as fans; they were waiting to crucify me if I said something they didn’t like.
Can you imagine a guy trying to have a political satire show in the time of Mussolini? Well, I was that idiot.
Naturally, everybody opposed my decision to retire. We had a contract with the channel. The show was the flagship product of the company and if I stopped, hundreds of people would lose their jobs. So I asked for some time to think. I went home that night and wrote an email to Jon Stewart. He was still in Jordan shooting his movie Rosewater.
“I am in deep shit, I don’t know what to do and I need to see you,” I wrote.
Jon was following the news and was checking on me regularly. He knew what I was going through. He told me to hop on the first plane to Jordan to have a chat.
Of course, I did just that. I landed in Amman, happy to see my friend. I filled him in on everything that was happening back home. He was horrified. Even he suggested that I just quit. I told him that too many people were depending on me. So he sat there silently for a while and then said, “Listen, not to compare here, but I might have gone through a similar experience. It was not an experience where we had a military regime or anything, but that whole ‘we are in a state of war’ mentality was there. Right after 9/11 we didn’t know what to do. We didn’t know what to make fun of. Everything was too sensitive, every joke sounded politically incorrect. People were scared. People were confused. So we decided to write exactly what we felt. People were afraid and that was the general mode. So we made fun about the fact that we can’t make fun of that. We made fun of the fact that we were afraid to joke about anything. Maybe this could work for you. You guys are afraid of talking about the current regime so just write what you feel. If you feel the big guy is untouchable, make fun of that. Write what you feel and you will find out that the people who watch you are humans like you. They will connect, they will relate. When we tried that we were surprised that people laughed from the bottom of their hearts. They needed that, you could feel it. Your sarcasm can actually be the tool that heals the country.”
Well, shit, Jon, when you say it like that!
I asked him about the fans. I said, “There are too many people who expect a certain, directed kind of sarcasm. I feel they want me to continue making fun of people who are no longer in power. I can’t do that. It is not right. I am afraid that I will lose a lot of my fans. A lot of people will hate me when they see I went against them.”
“Well, yes, that might happen,” he replied. “So tell me, what else are you afraid of? Your safety? That they might jail you? What? What is your biggest fear?”
I thought about it for a minute and said, “Well, if they put me in jail that will make them look too stupid.”
“I agree,” he said.
“I guess it is just the fact that I might lose the popularity and the support,” I finally admitted.
“Well, my friend,” he said, “that is true courage. Standing up for what you believe might not be what the people want. You’re staying true to yourself no matter what the consequences are, though . . . that is true integrity. Bassem, remember when I visited you in Egypt? I told you that you need to ask yourself, what do you want to do? Do you want to do comedy? Or do you want to do something that lasts longer? When you answer that, you will know what to do.”
“Dude, you never fail to impress me,” I said.
“Well, I am not in your shoes, and I can’t imagine being in your position. We sometimes take freedom of speech for granted in the U.S. It is people like you that will have to carve out their own space. Whether you succeed or you fail, you have already made your mark in history.”
I realized how far I had come in only two years. And here was my idol cheering me on. His words echoed in my head: “Write what you really feel, you will find a way. If you are afraid, make fun of your fear. If you can’t speak, make fun of that.”
We hugged, bid each other farewell, and then I made my way back to Cairo, determined to follow his advice. I was worried that I would be screwed because of it.
I was right.