The Church of Saints Sergius and Bacchus, Ben Ezra Synagogue, and Amr Ebn El-Ass Mosque are the oldest Caironese institutions of their respective faith traditions. Their histories are inundated with social, political, and religious significance, enticing thousands to investigate crypts, interpret engravings, and rediscover their spirituality. Yet, however captivating their individual identities, it’s their sustained coexistence that intrigues me. Built within a few blocks of each other, these institutions symbolize tolerance and respect. Curious cab drivers playing the call to prayer over cassette tapes often ask me my religion, and I never hesitate to reply that I am Christian.
However, religious diversity does not end at the Abrahamic faiths, yet this is exactly where Egypt appears to abruptly cut it off. I have not seen a trace of Buddhism, Hinduism, or the like. Curious, I asked an Egyptian friend if she knew any Buddhist Egyptians. She responded, "Yani [I mean], Buddhists are in Egypt, but the government doesn't like it. You won't find information on them. Yani, the government is very specific with which religions it allows and which ones it doesn't."
With unsettled questions, I approached my professor to get a more in-depth view of the government's position towards these minority religions. He expounded that a January court ruling finally granted identity cards to those wishing not to place a check next to one of the three state-recognized monotheistic religions. The government still refuses to recognize non-Abrahamic faith traditions, so these cards are instead marked with a hyphen. Yet, this was a huge step forward for Egypt, because for the first time in its history anyone—of any faith or no faith—can enjoy the benefits of full citizenship absent perjury.
Yet, a prominent X next to Jewish is for many less ideal than being given a hyphen. The Egyptian-Israeli peace treaty does not penetrate into the chests of many Egyptians, and rarely is Jewish viewed absent political turmoil. The past is still present in Egypt, and today's friction often quiets my few Jewish friends from displaying their faith on the streets.
For some Egyptians, being Jewish is an identity automatically implying alliance to Israel. Its counterpart? Arab identity. To portray a long, heated conversation concisely, three of my Egyptians friends recently pulled me in to give an outside perspective in their "Are Egyptians Arabs?" debate. They settled their dispute upon reaching the following conclusion: For strategic reasons, and strategic reasons alone, all Egyptians must claim Arab identity. Even my most dissenting friend agreed to go against his personal identity as solely European and Egyptian to claim he was also Arab; he had been convinced that Arab identity was crucial in creating a unified opposition to Israel. The conversation ended with the following remark, "All I [and my friends] really care about is that we all agree to hate Israel." I've rarely seen hatred expressed with such conviction, but it surfaces on the rare occasions that Israel, and often times even Judaism, is mentioned. This deeply rooted hostility—given assumed alliance to Israel—is most likely the reason why only approximately 120 Jewish families are left in all of Egypt.
However, religious adversity in Egypt is not reserved solely for minority believers. Conflicts between Islamic institutions and the state are becoming increasingly more severe, resulting in the government tightening its control. Recent political dissent made me aware that while the government is hesitant to extend its hand to the hungry, its more than eager to offer it to mosques. Strikes, demonstrations, and any unauthorized organization in general are illegal in Egypt. As such, the only strong associations outside of family ties are often those centered on mosques. Realizing the potential for a mass opposition to organize, the government has forbidden mosques from engaging in politics, banning even the most innocent political discussions. Government spies are suspected to have infiltrated many mosques, yet their presence has not stopped all imams from using Friday prayer to spread political awareness and activism. These suspected imams are quickly replaced by government-sponsored imams who ensure that mosques are unable to organize any opposition to the current regime.
It's disheartening, because for many Islam is hope. It's hope that zakat will counter the widening income gap between capitalists and the 40 percent of Egyptians who live below or near the poverty line. It's hope that the more fortunate will set places at their table, so 12 having died in line for subsidized bread doesn't rise to 13, or 14; or Islam is not a passive religion, and its active engagement in society does not exclude politics. Activists arise because non-Islamic political values continue to linger in Cairo's polluted air. Policies that align with Islam principles are viewed as having the potential to soften Egypt's failing attempt to develop.
This message of hope against failing development resonates under adapted forms in other faith traditions as well. All of these faiths, regardless of government recognition or control, contribute to contemporary religious debates and battles. Thus, religious diversity and adversity are uniquely articulated on Egypt's streets where politics are shielded from the Qur'an and some identify as hyphens or socially consequential Xs.
With unsettled questions, I approached my professor to get a more in-depth view of the government's position towards these minority religions. He expounded that a January court ruling finally granted identity cards to those wishing not to place a check next to one of the three state-recognized monotheistic religions. The government still refuses to recognize non-Abrahamic faith traditions, so these cards are instead marked with a hyphen. Yet, this was a huge step forward for Egypt, because for the first time in its history anyone—of any faith or no faith—can enjoy the benefits of full citizenship absent perjury.
Yet, a prominent X next to Jewish is for many less ideal than being given a hyphen. The Egyptian-Israeli peace treaty does not penetrate into the chests of many Egyptians, and rarely is Jewish viewed absent political turmoil. The past is still present in Egypt, and today's friction often quiets my few Jewish friends from displaying their faith on the streets.
For some Egyptians, being Jewish is an identity automatically implying alliance to Israel. Its counterpart? Arab identity. To portray a long, heated conversation concisely, three of my Egyptians friends recently pulled me in to give an outside perspective in their "Are Egyptians Arabs?" debate. They settled their dispute upon reaching the following conclusion: For strategic reasons, and strategic reasons alone, all Egyptians must claim Arab identity. Even my most dissenting friend agreed to go against his personal identity as solely European and Egyptian to claim he was also Arab; he had been convinced that Arab identity was crucial in creating a unified opposition to Israel. The conversation ended with the following remark, "All I [and my friends] really care about is that we all agree to hate Israel." I've rarely seen hatred expressed with such conviction, but it surfaces on the rare occasions that Israel, and often times even Judaism, is mentioned. This deeply rooted hostility—given assumed alliance to Israel—is most likely the reason why only approximately 120 Jewish families are left in all of Egypt.
However, religious adversity in Egypt is not reserved solely for minority believers. Conflicts between Islamic institutions and the state are becoming increasingly more severe, resulting in the government tightening its control. Recent political dissent made me aware that while the government is hesitant to extend its hand to the hungry, its more than eager to offer it to mosques. Strikes, demonstrations, and any unauthorized organization in general are illegal in Egypt. As such, the only strong associations outside of family ties are often those centered on mosques. Realizing the potential for a mass opposition to organize, the government has forbidden mosques from engaging in politics, banning even the most innocent political discussions. Government spies are suspected to have infiltrated many mosques, yet their presence has not stopped all imams from using Friday prayer to spread political awareness and activism. These suspected imams are quickly replaced by government-sponsored imams who ensure that mosques are unable to organize any opposition to the current regime.
It's disheartening, because for many Islam is hope. It's hope that zakat will counter the widening income gap between capitalists and the 40 percent of Egyptians who live below or near the poverty line. It's hope that the more fortunate will set places at their table, so 12 having died in line for subsidized bread doesn't rise to 13, or 14; or Islam is not a passive religion, and its active engagement in society does not exclude politics. Activists arise because non-Islamic political values continue to linger in Cairo's polluted air. Policies that align with Islam principles are viewed as having the potential to soften Egypt's failing attempt to develop.
This message of hope against failing development resonates under adapted forms in other faith traditions as well. All of these faiths, regardless of government recognition or control, contribute to contemporary religious debates and battles. Thus, religious diversity and adversity are uniquely articulated on Egypt's streets where politics are shielded from the Qur'an and some identify as hyphens or socially consequential Xs.
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