At lunchtime there was a rainstorm. Rain is considered divine good luck in desert countries; it was accompanied by a thunderclap and finished with a rainbow, and fervent prayers went up from the square. All afternoon and evening the rumors flew. That all the employees for state television had been sent home, that Suleiman had refused to take over if Mubarak stepped down, that the Army had met without him, that there was going to be martial law (as if tanks on the street were not martial enough), that Mubarak was on a plane to Germany. The crowd in Tahrir Square was vast and dense. Over the past couple of days, people have become increasingly worried about the spectre of Suleiman. I found a group of blogging activists in a tent in the center of the square. They were happy and flashing V signs. The whole square was a sea of madly waving flags; everyone had come for a party. Bardawi, the new, ostensibly liberal NDP head; the C.I.A.; and CNN had hinted Mubarak was going to step down. There were jokes as the evening darkened and the stars came out: What are we waiting for? Suzanne Mubarak to pack?
When Mubarak began to speak the crowd fell silent and sombre. His voice, grave and paternal, scratched and echoed through several sets of loudspeakers around the square. People clustered around radios and bent over telephones, listening. Their faces were very still. I could not understand the content of the speech, but it was clear he was not saying what they wanted to hear. At one point I heard the hiss and hush and exhale of grave disappointment. People silently held up their shoes in disgust, and a great rallying cry “Leave! Leave! Leave!” went up. I have never been in a crowd wracked with such intense emotion. After he finished, men wept openly while their friends consoled them. There was rage and screaming and shock. People could hardly find the words to voice their frustration. “It is promises in the air!” “He wants to keep his military honor!” “He cannot imagine that his people are telling him to go.” People shook their heads and looked up to the sky as if for some answer. One woman told me with a cracked, inchoate voice: “I’m angry … we’ve been waiting for years … wait until September? And he’s sorry!” she spat with sarcasm. “It’s too much! Sorry is in actions, not words. It’s the same old story. It’s no change. We’re just running in circles.”
Read more from our coverage of the protests in Egypt and beyond.
Photograph: John Moore/Getty Images.
