CHAPTER 1
IN THE EYE OFTHE STORM
Currently the mobs targeting journalists are rightoutside the Hilton but have not breached the premises.
—ALERT FROM CAIRO'S HILTON RAMSES HOTEL
DATELINE: CAIRO'S TAHRIR SQUARE
CBN NEWS REPORT: TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 1, 2011
We're standing in Tahrir Square, the epicenter for events here in Cairo,now beginning their second week. They expect one million in TahrirSquare, one million in Alexandria, and another million in Suez.People have been congregating here all day, some walking hours sincethe government shut down the public trains.
The evidence of the week's violence are all around: burned-outvehicles, Egyptian tanks, armored personnel carriers, and soldierssurrounding the square and Mubarak's burnt-out headquartersnearby.
The one thing unifying the people here is that they want to seeMubarak go. We saw signs saying "World without Mubarak"; we heardpeople chanting, "Mubarak, go to the U.S."; "Go to Tel Aviv"; shouting,"This is the last day for Mubarak."
Egypt is very much a nation on the brink.
Many say here Egypt will never be the same again, that it cannever go back to where it was. But the questions many are asking are:Where will it go from here? Will it sink more into anarchy and chaos?Will it go morph into an oppressive theocracy like Iran? Or will it findits way to greater freedom and stability?
Will Mubarak go? Can he withstand the pressure of the streets orthe political pressure of the United States? What role will the MuslimBrotherhood have?
These are questions no one has the answers for. That's why churchleaders feel Egypt—this pivotal nation in the Middle East—is at a tippingpoint and they're calling for prayer and fasting for Egypt—thatthis land rich in the Bible will fulfill its biblical destiny.
That was our report when the heat of Egypt's revolution burnedwhite hot. But things would burn hotter.
Here's our CBN News report we filed the next day:
Egyptian president Hosni Mubarak pledged not to seek reelection inSeptember, but it may not be enough to satisfy millions of demonstratorswho want him to leave office.
The day after Mubarak's announcement, demonstrators gatheredin Central Cairo for yet another day of protests. Many demonstratorshere in Tahrir Square vow they will stay on the streets until Mubarakleaves. They feel Mubarak's promise not to seek reelection came toolittle, too late. The demonstrators here are exuding a sense of power; afeeling that all together they can force their president of thirty years togo; that at least for now that for the first time in a long time, they havethe upper hand.
A young Egyptian told us, "Yes, we can make him go. And we will.We have had enough of him."
A middle-age Egyptian added, "Today we are making our ownhistory."
The next major confrontation will likely come on Friday, the dayof Muslim prayers. Some are threatening to march on the presidentialpalace itself. For the first time today there were minor clashes betweenpro-Mubarak supporters and the demonstrators.
Different factions and personalities are jockeying to control thisrevolution. But everyone is united on one goal: to make Mubarak go.After that, it's unclear what happens next.
Everyone agrees this revolution represents a sea change for Egypt.Some see it as the first scene in the first act in a long drama over the futureof Egypt. Its present is precarious and its future uncertain, and manywonder what will be the outcome for the most influential Arab nationin the Middle East and a bell weather for the region. It's why Christianshere continue to call for prayer and fasting for Egypt in its hour of crisis.
Before we left the square, around 11:30 a.m., we heard two ominousand prophetic warnings. One man told us Mubarak would use his thugsto disrupt things. Another lady—in a full burqa with only a slit for hereyes—warned us that people were now being allowed in the square withoutbeing checked. She said her large bag was not opened. Mubarak supporterswould bring in weapons, she cried. She sensed the violence to come. Bothfelt the quiet wouldn't last.
We went back to the bureau and sent our report by satellite at 1:20 p.m.local time.
After our satellite feed—from the production house six storiesup—we watched hundreds and then thousands of Mubarak supportersheading to Tahrir Square. I thought, That's odd. Why allow them to gothere? Isn't that a prescription for disaster? A combustible mix?
Curious, I walked out of the bureau and followed them down to thesquare. Mubarak supporters carried one policeman on their shouldersand smothered him with kisses. Certainly not the feelings of the anti-Mubarakcrowd just a short walk down the street.
I walked deeper into the crowd. The two opposing groups squaredoff. I stood just a couple of hundred feet from the epicenter. Somethingseemed different from the day before: ominous, wrong. I felt the whisperof the Holy Spirit: Something's going to happen.
Then, as if someone pulled a trigger, something did happen. A sparkignited the masses. The crowd surged back toward me. Like a field ofwheat blown in the wind, the mass swept back in my direction. Thecrowd as one began to run, including everyone around me. The soundsof feet, panting, people jostling, shouting, and running crackled in theair. Fear and panic—you could feel them.
Then I saw shoes being thrown between the two groups, a profoundinsult in the Arab world.
I got out my camera and began filming while simultaneously beingswept along with the herd. Thankfully, I found myself near the sidewalk,saw a fence, and like many others climbed over it. Still the throngswarmed. Like riding a human wave, it carried me with it and I rememberclearly thinking, Don't fall down, that's how people get trampled.
But this small eddy of humanity on the sidewalk found an openingin a metal corrugated wall. We poured in. The wall separated a constructionsite from the street. Sand and rubber tubing filled the area gettingready for a soon-to-be-laid concrete foundation. I saw a young kid pickup a rock, a big one. Then I turned and saw that now the shoes hadbecome rocks, showers of rocks. Back and forth the rocks flew betweenthe pro- and anti-Mubarak forces. Where did all those rocks come from?I wondered. I didn't see any rocks when I walked down the street just afew moments before, but now hundreds of rocks filled the air. Somebodybrought them.
Some of the rioting spread down side streets. The crowds surgedback and forth. Roars swelled when one side or another made advances.I had never seen anything like this. Smoke rose. Soldiers, tanks, andmilitary personnel dotted the scene but took a neutral "you can bothfight it out" stance. I saw one photographer in the middle of the meleewho climbed up on a statue to get a better vantage point. I feared for hissafety as rocks whizzed by his head. I'm sure he wished he had a helmet.Of the hundreds of wounded that day, many, if not most, sustained headinjuries.
I continued to videotape with our small JVC handheld camera whilehanging on to the fence. An Egyptian clung on to the fence beside meand shared these front-row seats to pandemonium. The relative quiet ofthirty minutes before had been replaced by a full-blown riot.
I called back to CBN News. They needed to know. Fast. This changedeverything. Our report filed less than an hour ago was already outdated. Itried to text with my fingers shaking. Adrenaline surged. I prayed, "Lord,help me dial right. Help someone answer." One text message: no reply.Another voice mail: no call back. What's that other number? I knew Iwrote it somewhere. I found it. I called and reached Steve Little, CBNNews's 8:00 a.m. show producer, and told him about the riot.
Then I saw the most surreal scene. Horses raced down the boulevardright in front of us! Then a camel came past me, surging through thecrowd. "There's a camel going down the street!" I shouted to Steve.
He passed the phone to Drew Parkhill, our 700 Club news producer. Itold Drew about the riot. Suddenly a man came up beside me. He shoutedin Arabic. I didn't know what he said, but I knew what he meant: "Stopvideotaping!" I put the small JVC camera in my pocket. But the man andthen a second stayed right beside me. I told Drew to pray since I thoughtthe men were from the secret police. I heard stories about their involvementin the demonstrations and knew they wanted to stop incriminatingvideo from reaching the outside world.
I turned and walked away. I had to put some distance between themand me.
I walked about seventy-five feet while still talking with Drew andthen turned around. Suddenly, one man grabbed my BlackBerry out ofmy hand, the other the camera out of my coat pocket. In less than fiveseconds it was over. They ran away, climbed up on some constructionmaterial, jumped a fence, and vanished.
My first instinct was to get my camera back. My second instinct was,well, there were two of them and one of me and I didn't know if they werearmed. They had run away so quickly the scene was a blur.
But now I stood there dazed with no phone. I lost my contacts andthe video of the riot, two days of personal recollections, pictures, andvideo of Cairo's historic turning point.
I left the construction site the same way as the thieves, half hopingI'd find them, half not knowing what I'd do if I did. The street I landedin ran perpendicular to the main boulevard where the riot was still raging.Strangely, this street remained relatively quiet. Within a couple ofminutes I strode along the Nile still flowing by, a silent witness to thislatest chapter in one of the world's most ancient civilizations. But whatwas taking place just one block away was anything but civilized.
Still trying to process what had just happened, I felt upset at myself.How could I let them steal the phone and the camera? I thought I hadbetter street smarts than that. I pondered, What do I do next?
When I got back to the production house, I ran into a producerand reporter I had met earlier in the day. My story gushed out. Theyexpressed shock and offered me a phone to use. I called back to CBN,reported what had happened, and then recorded a phone feed for a newand updated story for the 700 Club.
About an hour later, I talked on the phone live with Pat Robertsonon the 700 Club. We talked about what happened to me, the riot, thegrowing concern of the Muslim Brotherhood, how many Christianswere asking for prayer and even fasting for the situation in Egypt, andhow Egypt's turmoil might affect Israel.
After our call, people in the production house buzzed about otherjournalists who had been attacked. One example: a crowd had surroundedand accosted CNN's Anderson Cooper and his cameraman. Bythis time, the mood in the production house had changed. You could seethe growing concern on the faces. All of a sudden the streets had turneddangerous, uncertain, and unwelcome.
About thirty minutes later, I joined CBN News's daily editorialmeeting by phone. We discussed my situation. Should I leave? Stay?Some implied it might be time to leave, especially since I had no backupand no reinforcements on the way. At the time, I leaned the other way.I thought I could stay in the hotel and the production house in relativesafety for the next two days and then head home. The decision ultimatelywas mine.
At the production house, many huddled around a monitor feedinga live shot of the riot that still raged just a few blocks away. Now thebureau seemed much more vulnerable. There was little or no security.What security I did see was a willowy young teenage girl who openedand closed the front door. Not the kind of physique you want betweenyou and an angry mob. I talked with the head of the production house.What did he recommend? He said he'd never been in this kind of situationand was feeling his way through. A very kind Egyptian, he providedcrucial help for me as I sent stories to the 700 Club. I was deeply gratefulfor him and felt his aid was an answer for those praying for my trip.
At 5:30 p.m., I walked to my hotel, eager to look inconspicuous. Themood on the streets had turned. You could taste it. Angry crowds spoilingfor a fight, eager for a brawl. Dozens of Mubarak supporters passedme headed for the square armed with clubs. I shuddered quietly inside.
Shortly thereafter I reached the hotel and found the hotel staff—bellmen,security, and others—forming a human barrier at the frontdoor. I showed my room key and then one of the bellmen recognized meand allowed me to pass through this impromptu human shield.
The hotel itself housed mostly journalists from all over the world. Infact, the restaurant sounded like the United Nations; French, German,English, Arabic, and several other languages could be heard. Going intothe lobby or sharing a ride in the elevator provided valuable snippets ofinformation. Whose equipment got confiscated, what was safe, where youcould go. The hotel morphed into an instant club, a company of reporterssharing the same dangers and glazed together in the same furnace.
I walked into the lobby and ran into old friend, Andrew Wilson ofSky News. Despite the riot going on outside, it was a delightful reunion.Ironically, the last time we had seen each other was on the Israel/Lebanonborder when Israel fought Hezbollah during the 2006 Second LebanonWar. Our children went to the same school when he was assigned toJerusalem. We caught up on family news; then he left to see for himselfwhat was happening outside.
I went up to my room and witnessed something I don't think I'll everforget: the battle for Cairo.
The conflict—now three hours old—that I had just watched on amonitor at the bureau raged just two to three blocks from my hotel. Ithad begun with shoes, then rocks, and now had sunk into a brutal battle.Pro- and anti-Mubarak forces fought like medieval warriors with crudeweapons like rocks and firebombs hearkening back to the Middle Ages.A revolution that began with twenty-first-century technology—Twitter,Facebook, and the Internet—took a turn back centuries.
After I got to my room, I talked once more with my boss, RobAllman, and discussed our plans. At this time in the early evening andbefore the sun had set, I still leaned toward staying, feeling I could manageour news coverage—and still remain relatively safe—by walkingbetween the hotel and the news bureau around the corner.
Meanwhile, the battle continued raging with no signs of abating.
It was a barbaric, bloody siege.
Demonstrators threw petrol bombs from rooftops to the streetsbelow or from one rooftop to the next. Darkness shrouded Cairo bythen, and the explosions lit up the night for a moment, then the streetsdimmed down into a smoky haze.
I went downstairs for dinner. Riding on the elevator provided moreinformation from other journalists. One divulged two of his remotesatellite dishes were taken. The journalists—who by now were alltargets— shared an instant camaraderie. "Be safe" became a comfortingsalutation. My sumptuous dinner in a five-star hotel felt surreal witha revolution taking place outside. I wondered if this was how wealthyRussians felt during the Bolshevik revolution.
Back upstairs in my room after dinner, I had the unusual experienceof watching the news live on TV and live from my balcony. I turned toeither CNN or BBC and watched their live feed of the battle and thenwalked a few feet to my balcony and saw the very same image. Theymight have been broadcasting to the world, but just two blocks awaytheir coverage provided me with valuable information.
Around 7:00 p.m., several thousand miles away, my CBN News colleagueGeorge Thomas led the noon chapel at CBN in Virginia Beach.He arranged a Skype connection with my hotel phone, which thankfullywas still working. For the first time in days, I heard a worship service, aspiritual tonic for a weary soul. George explained to those in the chapelwhere I was and what I was doing and then had me share my experiencessince I'd been in Cairo. I told them what was happening and my feelingsabout the situation. Then George led us in prayer both for Egypt's predicamentand for my safety.
