The Arab Spring project

At 1.30 pm on January 28, I texted my father from Tahrir square. “The army is with the people, there’s an officer being carried on the shoulders of the crowd, soldiers hugging protestors on tanks, 50,000 people in the main square,” I wrote. “Game over Mubarak. There is no going back.”

It took a few more days before the Mubarak regime finally fell, but I knew I was witnessing something of great significance. I had never thought I would see a genuinely “spontaneous” demonstration in the Arab world, and it was amazing to cover such a dramatic story that would have huge repercussions.

In the weeks following my experience in Cairo, I’ve felt enormously privileged to have had the opportunity to speak to young activists, bloggers and protestors across the Middle East and North Africa - the people making the Arab Spring project happen.

Over and over again, I have been struck by their sheer bravery and determination.

People like Afrah Nasser, a young Yemeni journalist who was absolutely fearless in her insistence to defy cultural mores and political restrictions to speak out about the change she wants to see in her country.

Working in a male-dominated profession – she is the only female in her entire newsroom – and in a society where women are supposed to be literally and figuratively quiet and submissive, she is taking her place at the forefront of change.

“Traditionally in Yemen, women are – literally – not allowed to raise their voices,” she told me. “In peaceful circumstances, even calling out in the street to attract someone’s attention is considered unacceptable behaviour. But now, in the protests, it is very much welcomed and there is an amazing response when we raise our voices.”

Nasser insisted on being identified, but in trying to give voice to these dozens of activists in some of the most repressive countries in the region, IWPR had to take great care not to put them in further danger.

Contacting Syrians inside the country is fraught with risk, due to the high level of surveillance by the secret police. Ordinary phone conversations are not safe, and email and instant messaging can also be monitored.

Even speaking to people outside the country can be fraught with problems, as many expats have family back home who could be at risk if they were identified.

With one Syrian activist, we went backwards and forwards with his story, carefully editing out details that could mark him or his relatives out, even though he was using a pseudonym and had fled to another country.

Having been interrogated by the Syrian secret police more than 40 times in the past year, he told me that if he returned he would face certain torture and would maybe never be released from custody.

“Now I have managed to escape, but I will never give up this struggle,” he said.

There was also the opportunity to get an insight into what was happening after the attention of the international news agencies had passed on to the next hotspot.

From Tunisia, for instance, blogger and activist Kacem Jlildi told me that even a month after the revolution it felt like there were no fewer people on the streets protesting. There, divisions were emerging between those who wanted further protest, and those who wanted to compromise and for normal life to resume.

The huge challenge also remained of building up democracy in a country with little tradition of political activism.

“I heard that there have been around 240 requests to establish political parties,” he told me, “which signals big-time chaos - although I don't see a problem with a lot of parties, the competition could be fruitful - we just need to know their agendas.”

Other people who spoke to us for the Arab Spring project may not have previously been politically active, but nonetheless had calmly taken on the burden of responsibility to change their own countries and futures.

It is even more remarkable given that in their countries power was most definitely not in the hands of the people.

One Libyan, Bashar Sewelhi, told me, very matter-of-factly, how his father - a political campaigner - and three of his brothers had disappeared after being arrested.

Maybe he was still in shock, or maybe he was just determined to continue to fight for the cause his father believed in. Himself on the run, he insisted on using his real name. There was no going back for him, in any sense of the term.

“Whatever price needs to be paid will be paid. Even if that price includes the lives of my father or my brothers, we will have to carry on,” he told me.

Then there was Mohammed, a Libyan who had fled Tripoli after the pro-Gaddafi forces had tried to recruit him to their ranks. He had sent his family, including his pregnant wife out of the country – but almost as soon as he sought refuge in a European country he was making plans to return to home to continue to struggle against Gaddafi.

When I spoke to him, he was in a plane on the runway, about to take off to fly to Egypt, from where he was planning to travel to the rebel-held city of Benghazi, carrying medical supplies and intending to help the anti-government forces in any way he could. They need English speakers to get their message out to the foreign media, he said. That was something he could do and personal danger was not an issue.

Many of the people we spoke to for the Arab Spring project were from the educated middle class, people who enjoyed good lifestyles, stability and security within their own societies. Their willingness to risk all belies the theory that people are happy to give up their personal freedom in exchange for comfort, security and privilege.

As soon as the opportunity for change arose, they seized it.

Standing in Tahrir Square in January, it was clear to me that a tipping point had been reached and that there was no going back. No-one, least of all me, could have predicted the events of subsequent months. But it’s been wonderful to help tell the inspiring, fascinating stories of those making change happen.

Daniella Peled is an IWPR editor.