More than two months have passed since the upheaval that forced Egypt’s president to resign, yet this bustling seaport – home of the Suez Canal – still has no working police force. The military presence is so overstretched that commanders rely on community elders to disarm gunmen and on neighborhood patrols to combat the soaring crime rate.
Suez’s population of 550,000 so hated Hosni Mubarak that the deposed president never once visited in his three-decade rule, locals assert with pride. In return, they say, the regime steered revenues from the canal, oil refineries and industrial zones to other provinces.
Suez residents, among the first to take to the streets, hoped that the overthrow of the regime would bring about a political and economic renaissance for their long-suffering city. Instead, a persistent lawlessness has settled in here that exposes the limitations of Egypt’s interim military rulers and is a reminder that revolutions that so quickly sweep away authority can leave vacuums that are difficult to fill.
“There is absolutely no one to run the city. Even in this transitional period, we don’t see any administrators, any government workers; the governor isn’t here, no secretaries of the governorate, nothing,” said Hani Haddad, 32, an unemployed accountant. “The consequences are showing up: drugs all over the street, thuggery, robberies, no traffic control, rising food prices. The only positive thing I see is that people are now free to talk.”
Suez, one of Egypt’s largest cities, is emblematic of what’s taken place in much of the country. The once-venerated military, which is losing popularity amid allegations of abuse and bogus detentions, maintains only a bare minimum of security. Overextended officers take on the roles of policeman and politician. Increasingly, the military relies on community elders and citizen patrols to keep order, reverting to village-style justice in urban centers.
Political observers say Suez shows why the military must move quickly to turn over the Arab world’s most populous nation to civilian rule. Most of the local complaints – a skeleton police force, lack of government, unemployment and rising crime rates – are mirrored in Cairo, Alexandria, Port Said and other major hubs. What will happen between now and elections scheduled for the fall is a worry.
The first protester killed was from Suez, shot and killed on Jan. 25, when the uprising began. Days later, mobs torched police stations, government buildings and businesses owned by Mubarak cronies. When the regime fell in February, the people of Suez kicked out their longtime governor and his short-lived successor. A new governor – an outsider – was appointed last week and has yet to take office.
Apart from the military, the only real semblance of authority in Suez is Sheikh Hafez Salama, 86, a white-bearded opposition activist and philanthropist who’s hailed across Egypt for leading armed resistance against Israeli forces during the so-called War of Attrition from 1967 to 1970 and during the Yom Kippur War in 1973.
Before that, he fought the British occupation as part of a Muslim Brotherhood splinter group that formed in 1948. He’s still an Islamist, but he’s regarded today as an independent and a moderate who works closely with non-Islamist allies.
Earlier this month, Salama sported a small Libyan flag pinned to his lapel, a token he’d received from rebels when he surprised them on the front lines in Libya a few days earlier.
Since the revolt upended Egyptian life, Salama’s phone rings incessantly as followers seek his guidance. When asked whether he was the de facto government of Suez, Salama let out a deep sigh. “I am forced to,” he said. “It’s not by choice.”