In the new Egypt, many remnants of the Mubarak order lead comfortable lives
By Abigail Hauslohner, Washington Post, January 24, 2013
CAIRO--Farouk Hosni leads a quiet life these days. He listens to classical music. He paints. He follows politics closely--but he doesn't dare get involved. And many Egyptians say he doesn't have the right to.
Hosni served as culture minister for 23 of the nearly 30 years that Hosni Mubarak ruled Egypt. When Egyptians rose up to overthrow Mubarak two years ago, many said they expected men like Hosni to land behind bars. And what irks so many now is not just that many of the "felool," or remnants of the old regime, have evaded jail time but that they continue to lead extremely comfortable lives.
They socialize at luxury villas and country clubs. They cruise through dilapidated Cairo neighborhoods in chauffeured cars. Some have seen their assets frozen and their travel restricted, but that appears to have had little effect on their day-to-day lives.
Mubarak and his two sons are among at least 15 prominent figures from the old order who are in prison. But some, including Mubarak, his sons and his reviled former interior minister, are facing retrials--and the renewed possibility of acquittal. Only two of the nearly 170 police officers charged with killing about 900 protesters during the 2011 uprising are in prison. Many were acquitted.
For most, including Hosni, who was acquitted of corruption charges in January, the world goes on. "In a way, I feel like my life hasn't changed," he said on a recent afternoon in the vast living room he uses as an office, surrounded by classical sculptures and books on interior design. Even as culture minister, he said, he spent much of his time painting and reflecting. "I was always a thinker," Hosni said.
Like many other fallen elites, Hosni is bitter about the way the term "felool" has been used by Egypt's emerging political forces to sideline the old guard. "Are these remnants just a group that people are referring to, or are they millions? Of course, there are millions who worked within the system," he said.
To a conspiracy-minded public, the new Egypt looks increasingly like the victim of a cruel collective joke. Islamists are in power, to the dismay of many, and the economy is in a tailspin. And, as before, there is little transparency in politics or justice. Activist groups that oppose the new Islamist order say they will not be celebrating the second anniversary of the revolution on Friday. Instead, they have called for nationwide protests to mark the occasion, with early rumblings evident around the capital Thursday.
But the fallen elites--cast by Islamists and liberals alike as the masterminds of street violence on some days and as obstacles to Egypt's economic and political progress on others--say they are the victims, the scapegoats of a popular movement, the innocent targets of the deluded and ignorant masses.
"All the people I punished before the revolution were against me after the revolution," Zahi Hawass, Mubarak's longtime antiquities chief, marveled on a recent afternoon at Cairo's elite Gezira Sporting Club, where wealthy residents go to mingle, swim and play tennis. He said the media attacked him for being famous--Hawass has starred in documentaries and a reality TV show--and he accused rivals of paying protesters "millions" of dollars to chant against him in Cairo's Tahrir Square.
For years, Hawass led a crusade to locate many of Egypt's stolen artifacts in collections abroad and bring them home. "What I did for my country was incredible," he said, bragging that when he took President Obama to the Giza pyramids in 2009, a local camel driver recognized Hawass immediately but didn't recognize Obama.
But critics say that from his perch, Hawass wasted public money, stole archaeological artifacts, helped raise funds for first lady Suzanne Mubarak's private charity and signed a deal with the American Geographical Society to display Egyptian artifacts in U.S. and Australian museums in violation of an Egyptian law protecting antiquities. Former colleagues and activists also accused him of profiteering from his position by signing a deal with National Geographic to serve as an "Explorer in Residence" for $200,000 a year. They said he violated the law by using the King Tut exhibit at the Egyptian Museum to promote his clothing line.
Hawass has denied the allegations but acknowledged receiving $200,000 from National Geographic. "Yes, it's true," he said, adding that the deal had government approval. Accusations that he had misused the Egyptian Museum to promote his clothing line were a misunderstanding, he added.
These days, he largely avoids the public eye. He exercises daily at a hotel gym that is being renovated and is closed to others. He is working on several new books. And he attends dinners with an elite circle of friends. "I'm not a rich man," he said. "I take taxis because my driver gets off at 3."
But many Egyptians remain unconvinced that Hawass and other former officials are innocent.
Mohamed el-Shennawy, a filmmaker, said that when he took to the streets two years ago, he assumed that Mubarak and his cronies would face swift trials and, maybe, even execution. "When I compare our expectations to what happened, it's like a man being in love with a beautiful woman who then finds out that she is the complete opposite of what he thought," he said.
But some activists and political analysts say that the recent backlash against the ruling Islamists over Egypt's new constitution has prompted a reexamination of the felool.
"I think 'felool' has evolved a little," said Heba Morayef of Human Rights Watch. Now that they have lived with Mohamed Morsi, the Brotherhood-backed president, some middle- and upper-class Egyptians see Mubarak and his cronies as a lesser evil, she said. Similarly, when Amr Moussa--a former Arab League chief and foreign minister--ran for president in the spring, many refused to vote for him because of his ties to the old regime. Now he's seen as an increasingly credible opposition figure, she said.
To go from the inner circle of power to the almost irrelevant periphery of a new, Islamist system is a strange thing, the fallen elites say. Some have staked a claim in the new political scene. Others remain bewildered by their new twilight zone. Very few are repentant.
"They wake up and they have nothing to do," said Choubachy, who counts several top members of the former regime among his close friends. "It must be terrible."
