Inside the Culture Ministry

High culture, independent artists and political action continue to movingly converge at the Culture Ministry in Zamalek with a boisterous display of politically infused street performances. The past few weeks have been punctuated by spontaneous street side ballet recitals, pantomimes, live music and some tawasheeh (religious songs) for good measure.

The events were inspired by the decision to cancel a performance of Aida on May 28, a decision made by conductor and artistic director Nayer Nagui, along with 300 dancers, actors and theater staff. The temporary suspension of Giuseppe Verdi’s opera was in protest against the newly appointed Culture Minister Alaa Abdel Aziz’s decision to dismiss several senior ministry officials. Inas Abdel Dayam, head of the Cairo Opera House, Ahmed Megahed, head of the General Egyptian Book Organization, and Salah al-Meligy, head of the Fine Arts Sector, were all dismissed from their positions, causing a domino effect of terminations, resignations and artistic protests.

Since June 5, a group of self-selected cultural activists have taken over the ministry building to protest what they see as efforts to “Brotherhoodize” the arts, and to barricade Abdel Aziz from entering his office.

But while the street festivities and protests seem to emanate from an artistic utopia and a sense of reignited hope in something many Egyptians thought they’d lost, the scene inside the building is entirely different.

For starters, gaining access to the ministry grounds is something of a futile effort unless you are a known cultural figure, celebrity or someone with connections, as temporary gatekeepers stand guard at the entrance.

Arriving at the ministry’s black iron gates, a couple handfuls of demonstrators are trying to gain access into the sit-in. Some are name-dropping, others are pleading to get in; most of them are eventually allowed inside.

Nabil Baghat, a theater professor at Helwan University and media coordinator of the sit-in, commented on the door policy, saying, “It’s to protect the building, the employees who are still working inside and the demonstrators. You never know who could enter and bring danger to the whole sit-in.”

But could this position compromise the direct action and participatory democracy that peaceful sit-ins are supposed to bring about? The Culture Ministry sit-in could be accused of failing to be democratic if its organizers handpick who can and cannot participate.

Once inside, the scene becomes even more confusing as cultural icons like Azza Balbaa, Bassem Sabry, Mohamed al-Adl and Sonallah Ibrahim float around the garden, giving on-camera interviews while independent artists and activists bustle around in the background.

The protestors within the cultural encampment seem to once again lack explicit demands, direction or a unified vision. Instead, one feels immersed in confusion, cameras taking all kinds of footage, artwork on display and an inaccessible room resembling a Bohemian tenement.

However, for 26-year-old Kairoke, who has been camping out at the ministry since June 5, it’s a different story. He says he’s happy to give the upcoming anti-Brotherhood protests scheduled for June 30 more visibility.

“We’re continuing our original January 25 revolution. It’s not about removing the ministry. We are revolutionaries. We’re here to revolt against the Brotherhoodization of the country,” he says.

Mohamed Radwan, a photographer and active participant in the protest, agrees. He says the sit-in is a political rally of sorts, a call for action and participation within the demonstrations organized against President Mohamed Morsi.

“There is some discussion about cultural issues and solutions during the overnight shifts at the sit-in,” says Radwan, “But mostly we discuss our fight for Egypt. I feel the arts will lead to something much bigger than what’s happening here at this sit-in.”

Meanwhile, publisher Mohamed Hashem, owner of the Merit Publishing House, seems to have more specific concerns regarding the National Archives and Abdel Aziz’s alleged “plot” to destroy Egyptian culture.

“The most dangerous game [Abdel Aziz] has played thus far is his meandering with the Egyptian National Library and Archives, when he removed Abdel-Nasser Hassan and appointed one of their [the Muslim Brotherhood’s] own, Khaled Fahmy,” he claims.

“Before appointing Fahmy, an MB delegation went to visit Dr. Hassan to express their interest in fixing the history of the Brotherhood over the past 80 years,” he continues.

Hassan refused, and days later he was fired and replaced by Fahmy, explains Hashem, adding that it’s now “almost impossible for us to have any kind of communication with a regime that is trying to demolish our identity.”

Aside from concerns shared by Hashem and a few others, it doesn’t take much time spent within the sit-in to realize that the general narrative lacks a cohesive political discourse about cultural policy or development. Instead, the sit-in presents itself as yet another raucous reaction to the Muslim Brotherhood’s contentious politics.

Rather than discussing possible solutions to the many woes that face Egypt’s culture industry, such as the lack of rehearsal and performance spaces, mismanaged budgeting, nepotism and poor policy, one overhears chants like, “Down with the Brotherhood” or “Free Egypt!” The chants reverberate a general consensus that as long as the Muslim Brotherhood is in charge, certain freedoms and even cultural appreciation will not be protected in the new Egypt.

That’s not to say that the sit-in lacks any genuine effort or purpose. It simply means that cultural policy seems to be a secondary priority to many of its participants.

For now, the nightly street performances continue as mostly a motivational rally, regardless of the wider political ramifications they could have.

On the role of the Culture Ministry, Hashem says there are people who want to get rid of the ministry altogether. But he doesn’t support that idea right now.

“You can only think of dismantling the ministry when the revolution prevails and sets new rules for the game. But for now, what are you going to do with the ministry’s 83,000 or so employees?” he asks.

Hesham explains that the ministry currently spends 80 percent of its budget on wages and only 20 percent on other activities. The solution has to come in fixing the ministry’s budget, he proposes, so that more and better activities come out of these protests, and more opportunities are created for culture to grow.

Meanwhile, for the better part of two years, the National Cultural Policy Group (NCPG) has been trying to address both the issue of a state-controlled Culture Ministry and cultural policy-making.

Spearheaded by the Culture Resource Foundation, a delegation made up of 25 cultural innovators, university professors and experts in cultural administration founded the NCPG in 2010 to outline Egypt’s first cultural policy plan. The goal was to create a guideline for how to create a compilation of plans, actions and practices that would fulfill the cultural needs of the country.

In March 2012, the group presented its outline to the Culture Committee at the lower house of Parliament. After a series of hearings, the People’s Assembly officially adopted the outline in June 2012, but a few days later, the Supreme Constitutional Court dissolved the assembly, impeding progress yet again.

However, Fayrouz Karawya, a member of the National Cultural Policy Group, writer and artist, has remained optimistic.

While the group has not given any officially statements on the ministry sit-in, Karawya does have her reservations.

“I visited the sit-in a couple times out of curiosity,” she says.

“I thought it might be a good chance to engage in discourse about mobilizing civil society and independent artists to fight for their rights in regards to policy. But I soon realized these discussions were not very welcome amongst the sit-in’s participants.”

Karawya explains, however, that the group will expand on the work it has done so far and produce a draft cultural policy, compiled over 10 comprehensive chapters.

The draft policy would primarily call for more transparency within the ministry, along with partnerships with civil society.

Fair distribution of the ministry’s budget, increasing the national budget for culture and amending legislation related to freedom of art and expression would put things back on a right track, she argues.

For Karawya, it’s not about abolishing the ministry from the start, but decentralizing and reformulating the institution to act as the major funder and sponsor of cultural activities and services, as opposed to the producer, executor and distributor.

Enacting this plan could therefore empower the civil society community, placing Egyptian cultural ideology and production in the hands of the people rather than the government.

“Unfortunately, the response to this discourse was often rejected and sometimes [met with hostility] amongst many of the intellectuals and culture people attending the sit-in,” says Karawya.

“Sure, we still need to protest, but we also urgently need members of the cultural sector — whether they be intellectuals, administrators or artists — to begin to actively engaging in Egyptian cultural policy, in politics,” she says.