Quotes of the Day

On Feb. 10, enormous crowds gathered in Tahrir Square to cheer the hoped-for resignation of President Hosni Mubarak. Those hopes were quashed when Mubarak, in another meandering and legalistic speech, reiterated his intention of staying in office until a new President is elected in September. The people in Tahrir, some of whom had come from as far away as Aswan in the south, were furious — but also at a crossroads. What else could they do short of turning what has, on their part, been a largely peaceful protest into something bloodier? Tahrir Square has been a barometer of anti-regime feeling for more than two weeks now, the numbers who gather rising and falling with public support. The question now is, will anger swell the streets with protest again? Or will the failure to get Mubarak out only increase anxieties over instability and economic stagnation (the crucial tourist industry, for example, is a shell of its former self.) There was speculation that Mubarak's latest speech was an attempt to divide public opinion even further, targeting older Egyptians frustrated that life was not getting back to normal. Even before Feb. 10, Egyptians were expressing both hopes and anxieties, as TIME reports:

It's been barely a fortnight since the first demonstrations broke out in Cairo's Tahrir Square, but Mohammad Ibrahim Abdel-Mohsin already refers to the revolution in the past tense. The lawyer and father of three says he marveled at the valor and steadfastness of the mostly young protesters; in the uprising's first heady week, he twice visited the square to witness their heroism for himself. And he was delighted when a plainly rattled President Hosni Mubarak pledged he wouldn't stand for re-election in September. But now Abdel-Mohsin, 45, wishes the kids would just go home. "They secured very big concessions, and they should let things return to normal and life to continue," he says.

Mona Abdel-Salem, too, is impatient for a return to normality; for the divorced mother of five, who manages a small teahouse in the Agouza neighborhood, revolution is bad for business. Unlike the lawyer, she feels no sympathy, much less admiration, for the Tahrir Square youths. She remembers the first week of protests only for the violence and looting they unleashed. Despite the risk — and the scarcity of customers — Abdel-Salem, also 45, kept her teahouse open. She had no choice, she says: "Otherwise, how were we going to eat?" That pragmatic outlook informs her politics as well: Mubarak is the devil she knows. "We don't know how a new President will treat us, so let's stick with the old one," she says.

Revolutions are often a contest between yes and no. Calls for caution, the ifs and buts, are frequently drowned out. But as Egypt, a society weaned on the absolute certainties that come with authoritarianism, enters its third week of political upheaval, many feel a mounting anxiety about what lies ahead. For the political activists and amateur protesters who have brought the revolution this far, the challenge now is to persuade Egyptians like Abdel-Mohsin and Abdel-Salem to set aside their misgivings, sacrifice short-term economic interests and get behind the push to topple the regime. It's a tough sell.

The unease is heightened by the absence of a charismatic, reassuring leader among the protesters — the revolution is missing a Vaclav Havel or Corazon Aquino. Nor is there a Mikhail Gorbachev, an insider happy to shake the system up; the regime's new center of power, Vice President Omar Suleiman, is no reformist. Although he has opened negotiations with opposition groups, Suleiman has shown great reluctance to drop the emergency powers Mubarak has used for three decades to curb dissent. And he has sought to undermine the uprising by blaming it on old bogeymen: unnamed foreign forces and the Muslim Brotherhood.

If all this feeds the fears of anxious Egyptians, it also sows a sense of apprehension in Washington, where the Obama Administration, having nudged Mubarak toward the exit, is now trying to help manage Egypt's change to a more democratic system. That leaves the White House with a fine line to walk. It must reassure Suleiman and the Egyptian military, perhaps the country's true arbiter of power, that the U.S. will not stampede them into a messy democracy — like, say, Russia's under Boris Yeltsin — while simultaneously restraining them from cracking the heads of protesters.

The Administration has reached out, through Ambassador Margaret Scobey and special envoy Frank Wisner, to opposition leaders like Nobel Peace Prize laureate and former head of the U.N.'s nuclear-watchdog agency Mohamed ElBaradei, advising restraint and providing assurance that democratic freedoms are on the way. Under Egypt's constitution, Mubarak's resignation would trigger an election in 60 days — a challenging amount of time, a State Department spokesman says, for the country to prepare for its first-ever free and fair elections. But, as President Obama told Fox News, "Egypt is not going to go back to what it was."

Mubarak, naturally, is keen to give the impression of business as usual: he met with the Foreign Minister of the United Arab Emirates and with Russia's envoy to the Middle East. (His new Cabinet also announced a 15% raise for all state employees, an unsubtle attempt to curry favor with the 6 million people on the government payroll.)

For the young Egyptians at the vanguard of the uprising, Mubarak's photo ops are a provocation. But to many others, they are an assurance of stability and continuity. In a country where there had been no political change for a generation, sudden shifts can be a frightening prospect. "We must have a slow, gradual transition," says Abdel-Mohsin, the lawyer. "It doesn't help to create a power vacuum now." Yasser Salaheddine, 36, a rug repairman who attended several pro-Mubarak rallies, worries that opposition groups have disparate agendas — a recipe for chaos. "The Muslim Brotherhood have their ideas. The other opposition groups have ideas. So what is going to happen after Mubarak leaves?" he asks. "The best thing that [Mubarak] did was that he didn't leave. If he had, things would be very difficult now."

Mubarak's Man
Suleiman, 74, has anxieties of his own. The former general and Egypt's top spymaster hopes to engineer a face-saving exit for his boss and friend. But he must also protect the interests of the institution that commands the loyalty of both men: the military. Egypt's armed forces need the $1.3 billion annual stipend they receive from the U.S. as much as the respect they enjoy among ordinary Egyptians. Both those considerations rule out the use of military force against the revolution. Besides, many ordinary soldiers have shown sympathy for the protesters.

The military leadership comes from more conservative stock, however, and regards the protesters as dangerous rabble; Suleiman has described them as working for "foreign agendas." The top brass are also leery of calls for economic reforms, since they may threaten the military's vast business interests, including a network of military-owned factories that produce everything from olive oil to Jeep Cherokees.

How can Suleiman protect the military and Mubarak? By conceding as little as possible to the protesters. Since being named Vice President on Jan. 29, Suleiman has talked a good game about reforms, investigations into abuses and negotiations with the opposition. But the emergency law remains in force, allowing police and intelligence officials to harass and detain opposition figures, human-rights activists and journalists. Suleiman has formed committees to consider constitutional amendments — a key demand of the opposition — but also has said he doesn't think Egyptians are ready for democracy. (This earned him a sharp rebuke from Washington: White House spokesman Robert Gibbs described that comment as "unhelpful.")

This is Suleiman's stock-in-trade: as head of the Egyptian General Intelligence Service (GIS) since 1993, he has been the enforcer of the emergency law's most draconian statutes. Suleiman's intelligence agency and the Interior Ministry are generally credited with undermining the Muslim Brotherhood after the Islamist group won one-fifth of the vote in elections in 2005. But GIS was also responsible for the repression of secular opposition groups, ensuring that the National Democratic Party routinely won huge majorities in elections. The President relied on Suleiman for delicate international tasks as well, including mediating between Israelis and Palestinians.

As secretive as any other spymaster, Suleiman is something of a mystery to most Egyptians. Successive Administrations in Washington regarded him as a friend. Dispatches from the U.S. embassy in Cairo obtained and released by WikiLeaks show the esteem in which he was held: one letter, from Scobey, described Suleiman as a "pragmatist with an extremely sharp analytical mind." A cable from 2006 labeled him "the most successful element" of U.S.-Egypt cooperation in the Middle East peace process. Leaked letters from the U.S. embassy in Tel Aviv suggest that the Israelis, too, held Suleiman in the highest regard. A 2008 cable noted that of the likely successors to Mubarak, "there is no question that Israel is most comfortable with the prospect of Omar [Suleiman]."

U.S. diplomats, to be sure, could see through some of Suleiman's games. One WikiLeaks document detailed how an ambassador described Suleiman's "long history of threatening us with the [Muslim Brotherhood] bogeyman." Yet other cables suggest Suleiman didn't always agree with his political master: he was said to detest Mubarak's son Gamal, his rival for the presidency. But he remained loyal nonetheless. In his first interview to state TV after being made Vice President, he described Mubarak as "father and leader."

That sort of history means that Suleiman is nobody's idea of an honest broker, and his negotiations with opposition groups may have been doomed to failure even if he'd been sincere in promising reforms. Even including the Muslim Brotherhood in the talks brought him little credit — opposition parties and unaffiliated protesters alike see him as just an extension of the Mubarak regime and suspect he's merely stalling for time, hoping public opinion will turn against the revolution or that the protesters will simply tire and go home.

Stars and Stalwarts
But they haven't yet. In fact, on Feb. 8, Tahrir Square once again filled to the brim as the protesters found a new hero: Wael Ghonim, a Google executive who had created a Facebook page titled We Are All Khaled Said, on which he had called for the first protest, on Jan. 25, in Tahrir Square. (Khaled Said was a 28-year-old businessman brutally killed by police in Alexandria last June.) The unexpected success of the protest inspired others across the country and spiraled into the revolution. Ghonim was arrested two days later by state security and held for 12 days; not even his family knew where he was.

Released on Feb. 7, Ghonim, 30, tweeted a powerful rallying cry: "Freedom is a bless that deserves fighting for it." That evening he gave an interview to a popular Egyptian satellite station, Dream TV. Shown a montage of images of some of the 300 protesters who had died since his arrest, he broke down in tears and walked off the set; the display of raw emotion touched a nerve among viewers and turned Ghonim, previously known only to a handful of activists, into the revolution's poster child. About 130,000 people have already joined a Facebook group called I Delegate Wael Ghonim to Speak in the Name of Egypt's Revolutionaries.

The mild-mannered executive now finds himself burdened with the expectations of millions. For Fatma Gaber, 16, Ghonim's TV appearance was the moment she stopped being fearful of the uprising: he represented its human face. "The media had said there were fights and things," she says. "But when I saw Wael Ghonim, I really got affected by his words and understood that a lot of people suffered in this revolution. I really wanted to be part of it." Gaber and her mother made their way to the square on Feb. 8 to hear Ghonim speak.

In Tahrir Square, Ghonim was greeted as a superstar but made no claim to leadership. "I'm not a hero, but those who were martyred are the heroes," he said. Such modesty is rare in a political culture of bombast and self-promotion, and the crowd roared with approval. "We will not abandon our demand, which is the departure of the regime," he said to even more raucous cheers.

Even if Ghonim resists the pressure to take the reins of the revolution, his performances on TV and in the square have reinvigorated the uprising, just when the regime seemed to be succeeding at waiting out the protesters. The turnout on Feb. 8 easily matched that of Feb. 1, the day Mubarak pledged he would step down in the fall. Large crowds also gathered in Alexandria, Suez and Asyut, belying the regime's claim that the protests were limited to Tahrir Square.

The rally — and Ghonim's speech at it — was a reaffirmation for Mustafa Nabil, one of the Tahrir Square stalwarts. "This is a real, honest Egyptian, and I'm proud of him like I'm proud of everyone I've seen [in the square], sleeping in the cold every night," he says. Nabil, 29, is a medical doctor who first went to Tahrir Square on Jan. 29 to treat people hurt in clashes with police and has hardly been home since. Moved by the determination of the protesters, he joined their cause, and when armed pro-Mubarak mobs stormed the square on Feb. 2, he alternated between throwing stones at them and attending to the injured.

There's been little violence since, allowing Nabil to bask in the square's convivial atmosphere. He talks excitedly about three couples who got married there "because they feel that this is the only place in Cairo that is free." His parents and sister, who were vehemently opposed to his joining the protests, have recently visited him in the square. Thousands of people have arrived to check out the scene, and many have chosen to stay on.

Yet exultant though they sound when describing their revolution, even Tahrir Square veterans like Nabil feel a sense of uncertainty. Many fear that the regime, its police and plainclothes thugs having failed to dislodge the protesters, may try some underhanded tactic. "We don't know what will happen tomorrow or anytime," Nabil says. "We don't know — [but] this is our territory of freedom."

It's the sort of claim that young, idealistic men and women have been making on the barricades for more than 200 years. And it leaves Abdel-Salem, the teahouse manager, unimpressed. Given her difficulty in making ends meet, she reasons that the protesters must be receiving money and food from an unknown power. (Suleiman's propaganda to that effect has not been in vain.) "They're not like us — I get up early, and I work until it's late," Abdel-Salem says. "They're being paid and fed for doing nothing."

State media have indeed portrayed the protesters as spoiled brats from the upper middle class who have little concern for the difficulties their actions place on working-class Egyptians like Abdel-Salem. In similar circumstances elsewhere, that has been a powerful argument, but not everyone is buying it. Mohammed, a taxi driver who refuses to give his full name and who has had little income since the uprising began, remains firmly on the side of the protesters. If their continued presence in Tahrir Square messes up Cairo traffic for weeks on end, so be it. "They are staying there for things we believe in," Mohammed says. "They are outlining their demands before the people."

Having driven some protesters to the square, Mohammed feels protective of them. He worries that if they disperse, the police and intelligence agencies will be able to pick them off for imprisonment and torture. If the regime attacks the young people again, says Mohammed, "I will go down to the square myself to protect them." The most important thing, he says, is for the revolution to maintain its momentum. The alternative is too grim to consider: "I'm afraid that these people will leave [the square] and things will return to the old ways or be even worse." Wherever the revolution goes from here, there's plenty more anxiety to come.

— With reporting by Abigail Hauslohner, Rania Abouzeid and Yasmine El Rashidi/Cairo and Michael Scherer and Massimo Calabresi/Washington

This is an updated version of an article that appears in the February 21, 2011 issue of TIME

• Bobby Ghosh