Supporter: Sarah Warren

In Tahrir Square during the "Day of Victory."

I just got back from the “Day of Victory” in Tahrir Square, during which upwards of one million elated Egyptians flooded into central Cairo to bask in the glory of their successful revolution. Today’s event marked a crescendo in the celebrations that have taken place throughout the week since Hosni Mubarak stepped down as president. It hasn’t all been about flag-waving and chanting, though.

Young protesters put down their signs and picked up brooms and paint brushes, demonstrating their newfound pride and sense of civic responsibility by organizing themselves in street crews, clearing garbage, sweeping sidewalks and repainting curbs and iron fences. There has been time for mourning, too. A steady stream of people continues to make the pilgrimage to Tahrir each day to visit the large hunk of marble that serves as a memorial to those who lost their lives during the protests. The mourners stand in silence, staring at photos of the young faces. Some pray. Others take pictures.

Meanwhile, several unions have gone on strike and sent groups marching down the streets with placards to demand higher pay and better working conditions. One person explained her take on the strikes: now that Egyptians have found their voice, they are using it—it is as if these workers think that if they don’t demand their rights now, they will lose their chance. For its part, the military has begun to issue decrees, laying out a timeline for revising parts of the Constitution and working toward elections in six months.

While all of this has been going on, I have been on a listening tour, hearing Egyptians reflect on the events in Tahrir and what comes next.

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A young girl proudly holds the Egyptian flag in Cairo's Tahrir Square. Photo: Sarah Warren/Mercy Corps

I arrived in Cairo just before dusk yesterday. First appearances indicated a fairly normal situation. Aside from a little added scrutiny of my baggage on the way out of the airport, the rest of the scene took on a familiar feel — the deluge of taxi drivers accosting me as I emerged from the terminal; the usual debate over how many Egyptian pounds they would extract from me for the trip into town; the hair-raising half-hour journey with constant honking, aggressive gesturing between motorists and an endless string of missed collisions.

But then we hit the center of town. Suddenly the taxi was trapped in a wall of traffic underneath a canopy of criss-crossing overpasses. We had arrived at the gritty outskirts of the now-famous Tahrir Square. Since the gridlock seemed permanent, I got out and dragged my suitcase the last few hundred yards across the cement pavement into the Ramses Hilton, a tall gray fortress molded from concrete.

After dropping my bags in my room on the 18th floor and admiring the blazing orange sun descending on the other side of the Nile, I ventured off to Tahrir.

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One of the best aspects of my job is that I get the chance to hang out with youth in a number of different countries. Yesterday was one of those opportunities, and, as always, I left the gathering feeling energized and inspired. The event was a four-hour kick-off session for a new batch of participants in the Global Citizen Corps (GCC) program, for which I serve as global director. For a variety of reasons, we haven't been able to include GCC Jordan in large funding proposals in the past, and so our local partner here has been implementing the program with small bits of foundation funding we were able to piece together. Witnessing the great work they have done with this relatively small pot of money makes me very excited about what they could accomplish if they had serious funding.

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I wish that I were in Tahrir Square right now. After working in the Middle East for the past five years, I’d like to see and feel this historic moment myself. Our friend Nick Kristof of the New York Times is there. He reports that the usual hustle and bustle of traffic in the heart of Cairo has been replaced by throngs of exuberant protesters. The square, he says, “has lost its menace and suddenly become the most exhilarating place in the world.” While the street demonstrations across Egypt have drawn citizens from across generations, religions, political persuasions and socio-economic backgrounds, there is no doubt that much of the energy fueling recent events has been generated by the country’s burgeoning youth population.

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Last fall, Mercy Corps held the first videoconference between Palestinian and American youth as part of our new Youth Beyond Borders program. Fifteen high-school students from the Maret School in Washington, D.C. met virtually - through a real-time video chat over Internet wires - with roughly the same number of youngsters from the "Save Youth Future Society" in Gaza.

It was a completely electrifying experience.

I had participated in youth exchanges myself as a teenager, but observing it from the vantage point of an adult was a whole new experience - and an extremely powerful one. In fact, watching the interactions was so moving that I found myself choked up; the two classroom teachers were equally moved.

A poignant, eye-opening dialogue is exactly what Mercy Corps had in mind when we proposed having Palestinian and American youth meet in the virtual world to learn more about each other's lives and cultures.

In Gaza, young people thirst for information about the outside world and for access to American culture. Here, Americans have shown rising interest in understanding the Arab world. But youth in both places have forged opinions about the other based largely on television images. What's missing is the opportunity to know how average Americans and Palestinians live day-to-day.

The Internet can change that. And we wanted to see it happen.

Using very simple Internet technology (MSN Messenger and small video cameras linked to each computer) the two groups of students met for the first time. The level of energy and anticipation on the U.S. side was palpable - the students couldn't wait to meet their new exchange partners.

The images of the Palestinians were projected onto a screen at the front of the room. Each student said their name and shared a bit about themselves, like how many siblings they had, what their hobbies were, or what they hoped to do in the future. Everyone on the D.C. side was particularly impressed by the high aspirations of the Palestinian youth -- many talked of wanting to be doctors, lawyers, teachers or other professionals. One said he wanted to attend Harvard.

The Palestinians represented a range of personalities, religions and cultural backgrounds. The diversity was particularly evident among the girls: some were fully covered in the traditional hejab and headscarf, and others were dressed very much like their Washington counterparts.

After introductions, the groups alternated asking questions. Most centered on their daily lives, cultures and values. It was fascinating to see where their experiences diverged and where they converged. At one point, I realized that the cultural dividing line was falling not between Palestinians and Americans, but between generations-- students on both sides were excited to learn that they listened to the same music. Meanwhile, the teachers and I had no idea what they were talking about!

Upon request, the Palestinians tried to show a little bit of their traditional dance, Dubka. Unfortunately it was difficult to see on the U.S. side, but the Maret students were extremely grateful and, like budding diplomats, assured their new friends that the dance was wonderful. I stepped out of the room at one point, but walked back in to find the class truly mesmerized by a traditional song beautifully crooned by one of the Palestinian girls.

The question-and-answer session lasted about an hour. The last question posed to the Maret students by a Palestinian boy was this: "America is known around the world as a country of great freedom. What does freedom mean to you?" The profundity of the question - coming from a teenage boy in Gaza - seemed to knock the American kids out of their seats a bit, not to mention the adults.

In response, a young man said he thought freedom was about being able to express his faith without fear of persecution, and to say and do as he pleased.

When the question was turned back to him, the young Palestinian man answered, "I think it means that I can do what I want within the boundaries of my community's values and rules."

In this telling bit of dialogue, these two students managed to capture one of the most significant differences between American and Arab culture - the difference between individual and communal conceptions of freedom.

In the end, all the kids involved agreed it was a wonderful day. They came away eager to move on to the next phase of the program - a series of "getting-to-know-you" exercises over the Internet.

I think we're off to a great start with Youth Beyond Borders, and hopefully starting to accumulate some experiences that will help us as Mercy Corps tries to forge these sorts of personal connections between Americans and people throughout the Middle East.

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