FOR many observers, the return of authoritarian confidence, the changing zeitgeist among activists and the mixed gender outcomes following the Egyptian uprising are all signs that the earlier grand visions of the uprising have dissipated. More dramatically, many feel that the ‘Egyptian Spring’¹ raised false hopes in a future that never arrived and that current politics is suffused with disappointment. I palpably felt that disappointment during the last rounds of my field research in Egypt in late 2014.

A feeling of disappointment arises as people compare the expectations of the revolution to the post-revolutionary realities. Also as people contend with the murkiness and contingency of political agency under such conditions.² Jessica Greenberg, in her study of the experience of activists in the post uprising period in Serbia, defines disappointment as a condition of living in contradiction, of persisting in the interstitial spaces of expectation and regret.³ In mapping the terrain in which politics in Egypt unfolded following the uprising, researchers should analyze in greater detail the comparative conditions under which the politics of disappointment prevail. Most important, this analysis should be carried out with an eye to how actions and activism nonetheless continue to take place despite a widespread sense of dismay or perhaps even futility.

This is particularly important as disappointment seems to be the defining ethos of many new as well as older democracies in the MENA region and beyond.⁴ ‘All, all dead...’ Thomas Jefferson, American Founding Father, wrote to a friend near the end of his life.⁵ Jefferson’s disillusionment, historian Gordon S. Wood explains in his book, The Radicalism of the American Revolution, resulted not from activism itself but from the ambitiousness of his vision for America and the revolution’s actual outcome.⁶ The same was true, Tarrow observes, in his classic study of the 1960s activism in both Europe and the United States. Tarrow notes that the experience of disappointment following major episodes of contention was in direct proportion to the utopian claims of the revolution.⁷

 

Furthermore, studying the politics of disappointment is both momentous and meaningful as disappointment is a powerful force which exercises a significant influence on political engagement and participation. As a result of disappointment with the political process, individuals may self-censor their actions and distance themselves from further activism and political engagement. In understanding the puzzle of collective action and inaction, economist Albert Hirschman writes about the ‘rebound effect’ in which individuals, who throw themselves into public life and activism with enthusiasm, return to private life with a degree of disgust proportional to the effort they have expended.⁸ Disappointment in the political process and its outcomes following episodes of contention is thus equally a huge force in curbing – not only inducing – activism and thus contributes to explaining setbacks following major political transformation.

 

Finally, and more specifically, in line with the thrust of my research, women are usually the first and foremost group to experience disappointment following political struggles and regime change. This seemingly disappointing outcome is evident in the mixed gender outcomes of regime change and democratic transition through history and across different societies in the MENA region and beyond. Indeed, more than any other recent movement it is the women’s movement and feminist studies which have contributed to a recognition of the force of emotion in social movements.⁹

Underpinning the argument that disappointment is an important category in understanding post-transitional politics is a view about feeling and emotion as fundamental to political life.¹⁰ They are important, not in the sense that they overtake reason and interfere with deliberative processes but, as Gould argues, in the sense that they add an affective dimension to the processes and practices that make up the political broadly defined.¹¹ The significance of emotions in social movements has recently gained scholarly attention among social movement analysts and theorists. Particularly within the tradition of political process, scholars offer ‘a multifaceted picture of human beingness.’¹² They recognize emotion as ‘a ubiquitous feature of human life’ that is present in, influences, and brings meaning to every aspect of social life, including the realm of political action and inaction.¹³ Activism, I contend in line with Gould, includes not only expected and common feelings in the realm of activism like hope, pride, and solidarity, but also those that might be less perceptible like fear, shame, guilt, desperation, and disappointment.¹⁴

 

Disappointment marked the politics of post-uprising Egypt as a result of the infighting within the parties and opposition and the wear and tear of the political process that stripped many politicians,¹⁵ parties and revolutionaries of their initial popularity and credibility.¹⁶ Describing the political landscape at the time, Ahmed Al-Muslimani, Egypt’s former interim presidential media adviser, in an interview explained how the process of even seeking to articulate a common political agenda was increasingly challenged by the divisiveness of post-2011 Egyptian public discourse and politics.¹⁷ The coalition of opposition parties, citizens’ organizations and ordinary people that joined forces to overthrow Mubarak was both politically and ideologically diverse. Once the proximate unifying goal was achieved, fractiousness followed. After the uprising, the protests and acts of dissent that had been emblematic of resistance and democratic force, increasingly came to be framed as disruptive, thereby legitimizing their suppression, sometimes violently. This, I argue, contributed to creating a form of ‘authoritarian confidence’. As many segments of the population grew tired of the economic and political burden of contention, they began to show support for the government’s repressive acts against activists and political dissidents.

 

My observation regarding the rise of authoritarian confidence is not an attempt to essentialize Egyptian society and/or paint its people with an Orientalist brush. A growing impatience with dissidence and contention is a defining characteristic of post-uprising politics in both western and non-western societies. Tarrow, writing on the waves of collective action from revolutions of 1845 onwards, notes the spread of ‘exhaustion’ and disappointment as the cycles of contention wind down.¹⁸ Zolberg goes even further, writing, ‘What we remember most’, after the intoxication of protests cycles, ‘is that moments of political enthusiasm are followed by bourgeois repression or by charismatic authoritarianism, sometimes by horror but always by the restoration of boredom.’¹⁹ Exhaustion, disappointment and a return of authoritarian confidence following episodes of major contention are thus important areas for future research on social movements and democratic consolidation. A close analysis of the dynamics and tensions underlying these issues is critical to understanding the complex field in which the post-uprising political practice unfolds in often contradictory and disappointing ways.

 

Studying the influence of the deep state and a narrowing of political space is another key area of research when seeking to understand the complex and contradictory unfolding of events in Egypt post the uprising. The notion of the deep state is useful to understand some of the challenges that face revolutionary forces in revolutionary situations and block the actual materialization of revolutionary outcomes. In its original sense, the concept of the deep state was first used in the context of the Turkish political system to describe a group of influential anti-democratic coalitions embedded within it.²⁰ The notion assumes the existence of an influential group of people – from the military, intelligence, judiciary and big business – who run the state from behind the curtain as opposed to those formally in charge. In Egypt, the term is used to describe those elites who remained unaffected by the changes brought about by the fall of Mubarak, mostly the military which has been in power and the judiciary that has collaborated with the ruling elites.²¹ Their actions are widely seen as driven by a fear of losing their grip on power and wealth.

 

Such analysis draws our attention to the ways in which the arrival of new governments, in Egypt as in other Arab Spring countries, did not fundamentally alter existing power dynamics, forms of inequality, state-citizen relations and an understanding of the political. As an activist eloquently described, any attempt to understand the complex unfolding of post-uprising politics in Egypt should begin by analyzing Egypt’s former President Hosni Mubarak’s speech that was delivered by his Vice-President Omar Suleiman on the night of 11 February 2011. In the former president’s resignation speech, Suleiman announced that Mubarak ‘has charged (italics mine) the high council of the armed forces22 to administer the affairs of the country.’²³

 

According to my interviewee, a prominent activist and a vocal women’s rights supporter who did not wish to be identified, the speech should be read more as a ‘delegation’ rather than ‘resignation’ speech.²⁴ ‘Even as Mubarak resigned,’ she explained, ‘he still gave himself the right to delegate state authority to the army rather that leaving it to the parliament or the constitutional mandate.’²⁵ The speech is thus an emblematic reflection of the power of the deep state in Egypt. Analyzing the forces and dynamics of the deep state and its security apparatus should become a critical and growing area of research that promises to uncover some of the complexities and challenges of democratic transition and regime change in the MENA region.²⁶

 

Another important and under-researched area that is worth paying equal attention to is how civil society organizations and their members have contributed to the changing zeitgeist of post-uprising politics. During my fieldwork, several activists described how their experience in the newly emerged organizations and political groups did not live up to expectations and was marked by disappointment. Examining what I would term the ‘democratic deficiency’ in civil society organizations is an important analytical venture, as it demands a self-reflexivity in assessing the stakes of hope and despair that came out of the uprising. While acknowledging the influence of the underlying structure in conditioning and sanctioning our choices and options of action and inactions, scholarly analysis would be incomplete without accounting for our own actions and inactions. This is significant for not only academic research but, more importantly, for the lives and the future of the masses in the region.

Specifically during the last round of my field research in Egypt in 2014, several of my participants revealed how their experience in the post-uprising activism was marked by the very same challenges that initially gave rise to the uprising. Robert Michels’ iron law of oligarchy is relevant to understanding the issue of democratic deficiency in newly emerged political organizations. Observing the governance of political parties and trade unions in 1911 in Europe, Michels famously argued that ‘Who says organization, says oligarchy.’²⁷ He observed how leaders of organizations tend to acquire more power than the members who selected them and that once in power they are not influenced by opinions from below.

 

Others explained how the dynamics among group’s members was often marked by struggles for power and animosities. Different members had very different approaches, as well as competing ideas about the ‘most democratic’ way to structure organizations, represent interests, or interface with political institutions and other activist groups.²⁸ Contentions and problems appeared among members not due to differences, but rather because of an inability to move beyond their diverse, and sometimes competing, views to reconcile them.

This is not the case only for women’s groups; the activist community in Egypt at large has been increasingly criticized for replication of authoritarianism in their process and discussions. It is not self-evident how this corrupt political culture affected and translated into particular kinds of exclusionary (authoritarian) measures and practices among opposition and social movement members. This, in part, might be explained as a function of decades of authoritarian rule that have corrupted the political culture in Egypt. Even though the political regime tolerates criticism from opposition forces, as is evident in the growing number of opposition newspaper and media outlets, at the same time state security forces were also heavy-handed in punishing efforts at collaboration and collective action among different oppositional forces. Activists and political opposition forces thus were not accustomed to working together and reconciling their political differences in order to construct a viable political project.

 

Generalizing from this observation and ascribing it to every oppositional group, social movement organization and/or NGO in Egypt’s civil society would definitely be an overstatement. The question of how a group of activists who understand themselves as fundamentally committed to democracy can produce practices that seem exclusionary and undemocratic is thus a tough question to ask and, not surprisingly, to answer. It is, however, incredibly important to understanding the challenges of democratic transition and tracing the enduring effects of authoritarianism on political culture and its processes. This analytical venture may help explain the experience of moving both forward and backward as revolutionaries and activists try to navigate a post-revolutionary present in the shadow of the past.

 

The politics of disappointment, however, I believe in line with social movement theorists, is a ‘complex political and affective form in its own right.’²⁹ A focus on the politics of disappointment challenges us to ask how women as a group configure political action and agency in the face of such ambiguity and in ‘the shadow of idealized moments of social transformation.’³⁰ For instance, even as women’s rights groups in Egypt continue to fight for formal representation in political institutions and legal rights in the Constitution,³¹ they are also increasingly focusing on bringing to light issues of gender inequality across Egyptian society.

This is because, as Elham Eidarous contends: ‘The revolution, which was essentially a liberation project, has not only faced up to the political authority, but has also unmasked accumulated layers of societal decay.’³² This decay has been manifested, she adds, in ‘the high level of sexual violence against women in public places, unlike the atmosphere of liberation during the first 18 days in 2011.’ Thus, rather than the top-down approach that has been often adopted by women’s right groups during the last decade, the younger generation of women’s rights activists that has emerged following the 2011 uprising emphasizes rooted and localized activism that takes shape in non-conventional initiatives.

 

Under these emerging forums of activism, gender issues figure squarely and centrally. Salient among these initiatives are anti-sexual harassment campaigns, women’s oral history projects, as well as visual and literal arts productions. For instance, among the many memorable moments of my field trip to Egypt in Fall 2014 was attending a participatory theatrical play on the issue of female genital mutilation at the Swiss Club in Al-Kitkat neighbourhood in Cairo, Egypt. The play was one among a number of grassroots initiatives launched to celebrate the International Day for the Elimination of Violence against Women. The show narrated the life and daily struggles of Hania, a young middle class Egyptian girl, as she confronted harassment and gender discrimination at school and home. The story reached its climax as Hania’s parents decided to circumcise her, and the play closed with Hania’s emotional cry as she is pushed to the floor, strangled by her mother and the midwife approaching her with a knife.

‘And everything froze,’ I wrote in my field notebook. ‘The silence seemed so loud in the crowded room where over 200 people were watching the play.’ The heavy silence continued as the director took the stage asking for the audience’s reactions as well as what they thought Hania should do. The first to speak was a middle age Sheik. Speaking in a confident voice, he insisted that female genital circumcision was a religious obligation rooted in Islam and dictated in its teachings. Before he could even finish his sentence, a majority of the women in the room had raised their voices in dismay, shouting that the practice was inhumane. Some challenged the Sheik’s religious views outright, insisting that female circumcision was rooted in systems of discrimination, oppressions and patriarchal traditions.

 

It is worth noting that the play was staged in the Al-Kitkat neighbourhood, one of Egypt’s poorest slums. Unemployment, violence, crime, radicalization are among the long list of socio-economic ills that mark the area. I thus found it surprising, yet promising, that the show was actually held there. Indeed, Magy Nabil, an actress, in our interview following the play emphasized that the group deliberately staged its plays in rural and poor areas as part of an effort to reach out to the disadvantaged segments of society, who may be among those more likely to still practice female circumcision.³³ Women’s assertive reaction to the Sheik’s statements took me by surprise as well. I left with a sense that change and social transformation are indeed possible, and that they can take place when and where we least expect.

Beyond the creative and localized approach of these initiatives, such forms of activism and engagement hold great potential as they are often, but not always, tolerated by the regime. They may potentially escape altogether the radar of state censorship and security surveillance. In an increasingly narrow political space, these ventures thus hold great potential for sustaining engagement and pushing for social change. Furthermore, these initiatives are significant in raising consciousness about gender inequality and women’s rights both among women as also the broader Egyptian society. Awareness of one’s own interests both precede and enable democratic representation to take place.³⁴ Indeed, carving a space outside of politics for grassroots activism and social empowerment has resuscitated a potentially democratic project in a closed off and politically sensitive context.

The ostensibly benign political nature of these mundane forms of activism is both a response to and a path out of more intimate encounters with violence, as well as the kinds of political and social dilemmas that the past and the present of Egypt’s contentious politics pose. Members of these artistic initiatives are also somehow viewed as above the fray of messy political and ideological life, and thus better able to represent the interests of women and introduce social change. A focus on these forms of activism is important area for further research as it complicates our understanding of activism under politics of disappointment. It encourages a view of activism not only in multiple sites but also at multiple scales of action and meaning.

The poignancy of this research area is captured by the anguish of participants over the ugly turn of events in Egypt after the uprising, alongside their affirmation that their experience in the uprising had changed them, and that ‘things cannot go back to the old days of Mubarak.’³⁵

 

Attention to the politics of disappointment is significant for understanding the unfolding of politics following regime change in the MENA region and beyond. The intention is not to romanticize women groups – or any reformist group for that matter – for battling the odds at all costs. Rather, it is to draw the lesson that change and reform, even in seemingly limited ways, can happen in the face of disappointments. This approach encourages us to locate not only the causes of disappointment and democratic setbacks, but also to agency and actions amidst all odds.

 

* An abridged version of this paper was published at the London School of Economics Middle East Centre blog under the title ‘What Holds Next? The Politics of Disappointment’. The full article can be found at: http://blogs.lse.ac.uk/mec/2015/08/11/what-holds-next-the-politics-of-disappointment/

Footnotes:

1. Author’s interview, Cairo, November 2014.

2. Jessica Greenberg, After the Revolution: Youth, Democracy, and the Politics of Disappointment in Serbia. Stanford University Press. Stanford, 2014, p. 8. See also Deborah B. Gould, ‘Rock the Boat, Don’t Rock the Boat, Baby: Ambivalence and the Emergence of Militant AIDS Activism’, in Jeff Goodwin, James Jasper and Francesca Polletta (eds.), Passionate Politics: Emotions and Social Movements. University of Chicago Press, Chicago, 2001, pp. 135-57; Deborah B. Gould, Moving Politics: Emotion and ACT UP’s Fight Against AIDS. University of Chicago Press, Chicago, 2009.

3. J. Greenberg, op. cit., p. 8.

4. Abbas Amanat, ‘The Spring of Hope and Winter of Despair’, International Journal of Middle East Studies 44(01), 2012, pp. 147-49. doi:10.1017/S0020743811001292; Jason Brownlee, Tarek Masoud and Andrew Reynolds, ‘Tracking the Arab Spring: Why the Modest Harvest?’ Journal of Democracy 24(4), 2013; Daniel Byman, ‘Regime Change in the Middle East: Problems and Prospects’, Political Science Quarterly 127(1), 2012. pp. 25-46. doi:10.1002/j.1538-165X.2012. tb00719.x; Michael Scott Doran, ‘Heirs of Nasser: Who Will Benefit from the Second Arab Revolution’, Foreign Affairs 90, 2011, pp. 17; Mohammad Ayatollahi Tabaar, Assessing (In)security after the Arab Spring: The Case of Egypt’, PS: Political Science and Politics 46 (04): 2013, pp. 727-35. doi:10.1017/S1049096513001261.

5. Gordon S. Wood, The Radicalism of the American Revolution (2nd revised edition). Vintage, New York, 1993, p. 368.

6. Ibid.

7. Sidney G. Tarrow, ‘Mentalities, Political Cultures and Collective Action Frames: Constructing Meaning through Action’, in Aldon D. Morris (ed.), Frontiers in Social Movement Theory. Yale University Press, New Haven, 1992, pp. 174-202.

8. Albert O. Hirschman, Shifting Involvements: Private Interest and Public Action. Twentieth-Anniversary edition. Princeton University Press, 2002.

9. Sidney G. Tarrow, Power in Movement: Social Movements and Contentious Politics. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 1998, p. 112; Verta Taylor, ‘Watching for Vibes: Bringing Emotions into the Study of Feminist Organizations’, in Myra Ferree (ed.), Feminist Organizations: Harvest of the New Women’s Movement. Temple University Press, Philadelphia, 1995, pp. 223-33.

10. D. Gould, op. cit., 2009; J. Greenberg, op. cit., 2014; V. Taylor, ibid., 1995.

11. D. Gould, J. Greenberg, V. Taylor, ibid.

12. D. Gould, ibid., 2009, p. 17.

13. D. Gould, ibid., 2009, p. 17. See also, Sara Ahmed, The Cultural Politics of Emotion. Routledge, New York, 2004; Jeff Goodwin and James M. Jasper, Rethinking Social Movements: Structure, Meaning, and Emotion. Rowman & Littlefield, 2004; Ronald Aminzade and Doug McAdam, ‘Emotions and Contentious Politics’, in Ronald Aminzade (ed.), Silence and Voice in the Study of Contentious Politics. Cambridge University Press, 2001, pp. 17

14. D. Gould, op. cit., pp. 16-19.

15. While Mohamed El-Baradei is a key figure in the 2011 Egyptian uprising, his credibility and popularity suffered negatively following his resignation on 14 August 2013, following a violent crackdown by security forces on supporters of deposed president Mohamed Morsi. He stands accused of ‘betraying’ and ‘breaching’ the national trust and the public by resigning, a misdemeanour charge that could carry an $1,430 fine if he is convicted (Al-Jazeera 2013). The charge and the public reaction to El-Baradie’s resignation, Khaled Dawoud, a former spokesman of the National Salvation Front of which El-Baradei was one of the founders, explains is a reflection and indication of the polarization of politics in Egypt, where independent sta nds are un-tolerated and even – as the case of El-Baradei shows – sanctioned. El-Baradei left Egypt for Vienna days following his resignation.

16. Ali Al-Rigal, ‘The General and the Parliament: on the Absence of Politics and the Presence of Militarization [Al-General Wa Al-Parliman: An Nfy Al-Seyasa Wa Hodor Al-Askara}’, Mada Masr, 2015. Accessed 28 September http://www.madamasr.com/ar/opinion/politics/; Bilal Alaa, ‘Why the Army Succeed While Other Fail? [Lemaza Yangah Al-Askar Wa Yan Hazem Al-Aghroon?]’ Mada Masr, 2015. Accessed September 28. http://www.madamasr.com/ar/opinion/politics; Belal Fadl, Opening the Body of History [Fath Batn Al-Tarekh]. Dar al-Shuruq, Cairo, 2014.

17. Al-Regal, B. Alaa, B. Fadl, ibid.

18. Sidney G. Tarrow, Power in Movement: Social Movements and Contentious Politics. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 1998.

19. Aristide R. Zolberg, ‘Moments of Madness’, Politics & Society 2(2), 1972, pp. 183-208.

20. Kemal H. Karpat, Studies on Turkish Politics and Society: Selected Articles and Essays. Brill. Boston, MA, 2004.

21. M. Abdelrahman,. ‘A Hierarchy of Struggles? The "Economic" and the "political" in Egypt’s Revolution’, Review of African Political Economy 39(134), 2012, pp. 614-28. doi:10.1080/03056244.2012.738419; Holger Albrecht, ‘Authoritarian Transformation or Transition from Authoritarianism? Insights on Regime Change in Egypt’, in Bahgat Korany and Rabab El-Mahdi (eds.), Arab Spring in Egypt: Revolution and Beyond. American University in Cairo Press, Cairo, 2012, pp. 251-70; Holger Albrecht, ‘Does Coup-Proofing Work? Political-Military Relations in Authoritarian Regimes amid the Arab Uprisings’, Mediterranean Politics 20(1), 2015, pp. 36-54. doi:10.1080/13629395.2014.932537; Issandr El-Amrani, ‘Sightings of the Egyptian Deep State’, Middle East Research and Information Project, 1 January 2012. http://www.merip.org/mero/mero010112; Matthew Kaminski, ‘The Return of Egypt’s "Deep State’’’, 15 June 2012, sec. Opinion. http://online.wsj.com/article/SB1000142405270 2303734204577468642662667770.html

22. The SCAF, Egypt’s highest military body, was created by President Gamal Abdul Nasser under Law No. 4 of 1968 following the country’s defeat in the 1967 war. Its official purpose was to coordinate the strategy and operations of the armed forces during wartime, which is why President Anwar Sadat later sought counsel from it prior to the 1973 war. Yet the body took on a more ceremonial role following the Camp David Accords of 1978 and the Israeli-Egyptian peace treaty of 1979. In contrast to the National Defense Council, the SCAF’s status was not enshrined in the constitution, and it seemed to convene only on anniversaries of past wars during the former preseident Hosni Mubarak era. Following the January 2011 uprising that ousted Mubarak, however, the SCAF’s role fundamentally expanded.

23. CNN, ‘Egypt Uprising: Mubarak Steps Down’, 2011 http://www.cnn.com/TRANSCRIPTS/1102/11/bn.04.html

24. Author’s interview, Cairo: Egypt, December 2014.

25. Ibid.

26. Maha Abdelrahman, ‘A Hierarchy of Struggles? The "economic" and the "political" in Egypt’s Revolution’, Review of African Political Economy 39(134), 2012. pp. 614-28; Holger Albrecht, ‘Authoritarian Transformation or Transition from Authoritarianism? Insights on Regime Change in Egypt’, in Bahgat Korany and Rabab El-Mahdi (eds.), Arab Spring in Egypt: Revolution and beyond. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press, 2012, pp. 251-70; Raymond Hinnebusch, ‘Change and Continuity after the Arab Uprising: the Consequences of State Formation in Arab North African States’, British Journal of Middle Eastern Studies 42(1), 2015, pp. 12-30. doi:10.1080/13530194. 2015.973182; Marc Lynch and Tobby Dodge, ‘The Arab Thermidor.’ The Washington Post, 27 February 2015. http://www.washington post.com/blogs/monkey-cage/wp/2015/02/27/the-arab-thermidor/; Dina Shehata, ‘The Arab Uprisings and the Prospects for Building Shared Societies’, Development 57(1), 2014, pp. 84-95. doi:10.1057/dev.2014.29.

27. Robert Michels, Political Parties. Transaction Publishers, 1915, p. 15.

28. B. Fadl, 2014, op. cit., fn. 16; Mai Shams Al-Din, ‘Emad Mubarak: the Civil Society Needs to Reconsider its Priorities and Problems [Emad Mubarak: Ala Al-Mogtama Al-Madany Al-Tafkeer Fi Aolayato Wa Moshkelatoh}’ Mada Masr, 2015. Accessed 29 September http://www.madamasr.com /ar/sections/politics; Mai Shams Al-Din, ‘The Closed Circut to State Violence: The Case Study of Al-Mataraya. [Al-Daera Al-Moghlaka Li Onf Al-Dawala: Al-Mataraya Namozagn].’ Mada Masr, 2015. Accessed September 29. http://www.madamasr.com/ar/sections/politics/

29. J. Greenberg, 2014, op. cit., fn. 2, p. 11; D. Gould, 2009, op. cit., fn. 2; S. Tarrow, 1998, op. cit., fn. 9, p. 169.

30. J. Greenberg, 2014, op. cit., fn. 2, p. 11.

31. The invisibility of women from the formal political landscape is evident in the weak representation of women in Parliament, government and political parties in the period post the uprising – whether under SCAF rule, Muslim brotherhood, or under the current regime.

32. Author’s Interview, Elham Eidarus, Legal Representative of the Bread and Freedom Party, Cairo, Egypt, November 2014.

33. Author’s interview, Magy Nabil, Actress in ‘One Voice’ Theatrical Group, Cairo, Egypt, November 2014.

34. J. Greenberg, 2014, op. cit., fn. 2.

35. Author’s Interview, Cairo, Egypt, November 2015.