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February 5th, 2012 
FAKE NEWS for the Zionist agenda
But to Mr Salema and his friends, supporters of Cairo’s al-Ahly football club,
the deaths were revenge on the club’s tough supporters for joining the
Tahrir Square protests.
“Tantawi must go on trial for this,” said another man, referring to the dour
army commander who stepped in last year to run Egypt when Mubarak was forced
out.
A sobbing old woman in a black Abaya embraced Mr Salema, a tea shop worker
aged 24, his leg in a cast.
Around him hundreds of young fans known as “ultras”, draped in football
colours, many in tears, waved aloft photographs of their dead friends and
sang club anthems.
Like most of those around him he was convinced the “hooligans” had undercover
police among them, perhaps including the man who threw him from the stadium.
“They showed no mercy at all. They were not normal football supporters,” he
said.
He counts himself lucky to have escaped with just a broken leg. After his fall
he was helped to hospital by Ahly fans. Others pushed off the upper levels
of the stadium died from their injuries.
Overwhelmed by the memory as he recalled what had happened, he collapsed from
grief and had to be carried away by his mates, sobbing uncontrollably.
But grief wasn’t the only emotion in evidence outside the headquarters of
Ahly, the Manchester United of Egypt. The crowd was angry, and the word
“Qusas” — retribution — was on everybody’s lips.
“We must destroy Port Said,” the young hotheads chanted, an indication of more
trouble ahead, although some Ahly fans said the injured had been helped by
Port Said people.
Since the revolution, in comparison to the quiet authoritarian days of Hosni
Mubarak when the police state ensured a rigid order, Egyptians have become
used to almost daily violence. Sure enough, by Thursday night, 24 hours
after the stadium disaster, it had started. Hundreds of Ahly fans, convinced
that the hooligans who killed their friends had official support, attacked
the budilings of the interior ministry.
Several fans were killed and hundreds injured by military police, who fired
volleys of tear gas to beat back fans’ determined attempts to break through
and burn the building to the ground. The casualty toll added to the 1000
injuries Ahly supporters suffered in the disaster at Port Said.
By Saturday afternoon, a total of nine had died in continuing clashes around
the country, and health officials said some 2,500 had been injured.
The political impact also reverberated through Egypt, threatening to put more
pressure on the military, whose rule was greeted with relief a year ago, but
which is now becoming hated by many. Politicians queued up to denounce
officialdom and the army for the disaster – with little real evidence to
rely on – but the Muslim Brotherhood, now the biggest party in parliament,
had to equivocate.
They rely on an undeclared partnership with the army, and could only complain
vaguely about old regime elements paying thugs to launch the attack.
The original violence might have been foreseen, however.
On Wednesday night when Ahly fans started arriving at the Masry ground some
immediately guessed there would be trouble. The two clubs share a
long-standing enmity and in the past year that has worsened as Ahly’s
toughest fans have joined the protests in Tahrir Square, fighting the
security forces on the side of the revolution.
Masry fans have not liked seeing their sworn enemies become heroes.
Survivors said that, unlike at normal games, no spectator was searched for
weapons before entering the stadium, and that there were only a handful of
police.
“There were people carrying knives and guns,” said an Ahly fan, Mustapha. “I
knew things would be bad at the end of the match.” Another said: “The police
stood and looked at what was going on. They did less than nothing. They were
scared of getting involved.”
Such claims have fuelled the belief that the attacks were pre-planned, with
official sanction. But not everyone was convinced it was a conspiracy.
“In Egypt we are used to chaos and incompetence,” one man said quietly on the
sidelines of the fans’ rally.
Since the revolution, official incompetence has got much worse, especially
among the police whose reputation and morale has plummeted.
Until the final whistle the match, won by Masri 3-1, went by without serious
incident, although Ahly fans hurled fireworks at their opponents.
Then a hardcore of Masry fans known as “baltagiyya” charged onto the pitch to
chase Ahly players and fans. Riot police helped the players to get away, but
did nothing to stop the hooligans attacking rival fans — further fuelling
the conspiracy theory.
As terrified players escaped back into their changing rooms, the killing
began.
Afterwards, fans swapped horrific stories. One described how a man was stabbed
in the eye with a knife. A 13-year-old boy, who travelled to Port Said with
his father, told The Sunday Telegraph how he saw young men beaten to
death in front of him. Several fans insisted they had seen Masry hooligans
stealing wallets at knife point, or robbing the dead and injured.
The highest death toll seems to have occurred when fans tried to escape the
stand into an exit corridor with a bolted door at the end.
Many were crushed to death as others crowded in. Muhammed Ahmad, a cook aged
21, said when he was trapped in there the crush forced him to the ground.
“I put out my hands, and they landed in pools of blood,” he said. His friend
Ahmed Abedlgayed, 22, died next to him. “His wedding was going to be held in
two months time,” Mr Ahmad said. “Now his wedding guests will be attending
his funeral.”
Hundreds of families in Cairo had similar terrible stories, as the newspapers
filled with photographs of fresh-faced young men, most of whom had
repeatedly risked their lives in the revolution last year.
The family of Kharim Khouzam found his body in the Port Said morgue after
searching for hours to try to find out what happened to him. The
19-year-old, a student of management at Cairo’s German University, was a
popular member of the team fan club. He was its official photographer, and
hardly ever missed a match.
In the days since his death his stencilled image has appeared on walls across
the city, a mark of respect by revolutionaries who plaster Cairo with
graffiti.
“He was always funny, always telling jokes, usually about Hosni Mubarak,” said
Rafiq Magdi, aged 19, an engineering student at the same university. The
pair had been friends since childhood.
At a candlelit vigil held at a church near his home in the upmarket Heliopolis
suburb on Friday hundreds came to show their respects, ranging from boys
wearing hoodies to solid middle-aged men in suits.
“Karim was an optimist who believed the revolution was changing Egypt and
would ensure a good future for us all,” Mr Magdi said. “Many young Egyptians
talk all the time about leaving Egypt. But he always wanted to stay here and
build the future.”
His family are not yet sure exactly how he died, such was the chaos in the
stadium. His injuries suggest he was beaten to death or died in the crush.
“I will always remember him singing the Horreya, our revolutionary song about
freedom,” Mr Magdi said.
“He risked his life many times in Tahrir Square. We will remember him as
another martyr for freedom.”
Additional reporting by Patrick Galey in Port Said and Michael Gunn in
Cairo
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