This guest post by ALIA ALLANA is a despatch from Cairo for Kafila, the ninth in a series of ground reports from the Arab Spring. Photographs by Alia Allana

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The police lobbed another tear gas canister and soon the feeling of suffocation would take over. But he didn’t move, instead he stood in the center; he continued to wave the Egyptian flag. The sound of rubber bullets being fired drowned under the sound of the drum. The drum was the harbinger of doom: when it was sounded by protestors, when the cacophony cut through the air, the message was simple – run, run as fast as you can because the police would begin their attack, again.

But he didn’t. He stood less than a hundred meters away from the riot police. Flimsy plastic goggles covered his eyes in case the police shot rubber bullets at them. Eyes are a favourite with the riot police. A gas mask covered his mouth but it didn’t prevent the gas from entering, from tormenting the body.

At the front line of the street battle between the people and the police, the young boy was a member of the people’s army. He was standing on Mohammed Mahmoud Street off Tahrir Square; it has been the site of the fiercest clashes, of the most deadly fighting that has taken place between the people and the police. It is the road that houses the American University of Cairo and the Ministry of Interior.

He is a foot soldier of Revolution 2.0. Egyptians poured into Tahrir Square again and the buzz on the street from early morning was that today’s protests would reach the one million mark, like January 25, a decisive day that ushered the end of Mubarak’s regime, had done. The square would again be rammed and the crowds would spill over into the surrounding streets.

At 8:14 pm local time, at the time of writing, the side streets off Tahrir Square came alive too. The sound of celebratory honks from cars and cheers from the public pointed to another victory for the people. Field Marshall Mohammed Hussein Tantawi, the recipient of much anger has announced a fixed date for holding presidential elections on June 2012. By doing so he has given into one of the protestors’ central demands. Further concessions to quell popular resentment have resulted in the resignation of the current cabinet and steps towards the formation of a new one. Parliamentary elections slotted for next week will be held as planned.

But for some, this is too little too late from a man dubbed “Mubarak’s poodle”. At midday a small group gathered at the square. They positioned themselves on the raised platform at Tahrir Square and started chanting into their speakerphones: “The people want the fall of the Field Marshall.”

Meanwhile makeshift tents were being erected. Groups of women in black abayas sat at the center of the square. They poured a mixture of yeast and water into small bottles. Some bottles had a spray and the contents would be showered on to the faces of those exposed to the tear gas. The mixture eases the burning but stings like bee bite when sprayed onto the eyes. Again, the conversation tilted to abuses by the military: abuses of power and the people. An older lady, Zaynab, said that the army they had trusted had sold out. That they had slept with the devil, the United States, and bought a more potent tear gas than what was used during the Mubarak period. A man carried empty canisters in his hands: they were of different sizes but all read, Made in the USA. “They are worse than him [Mubarak],” she said. Would all of 100 bottles of mixture be used, I asked. A woman who asked not to named said, “There are 19 of them now. Earlier it was unseating just Mubarak, but unseating his dogs, his poodles, may be harder.”

19 poodles are what the SCAF (Supreme Council of the Armed Forces) is popularly known as on the streets. These are Mubarak’s former yes-men, clients of his patronage, and recipients of his good graces. The old, ailing Mubarak had trusted them and it is they who were handed over power just before Mubarak skipped town and ran off to Sharm el Sheikh. The SCAF were elevated during Mubarak’s ouster for it is they who refused to open fire on armed protestors. Now, 9 months have passed since the SCAF assumed command under Tantawi. He shows no signs of leaving his post and the transition the people were promised on February 11 has not materialised. But, this time round, the SCAF has authorized the use of force.

Today’s million-man protest is a result of three days of violence and three days of uncertainty and months of pent up anger.

“We want answers,” says Sarah. She was present at the protests in January and she is back on the streets now. She has seen her friends die, she has heard of torture at the hands of the army. In March, Amnesty International reported that the Egyptian military had beaten, handcuffed and photographed 17 female protestors at Tahrir Square. Female soldiers had restrained the activists and “doctors” had conducted “virginity tests”. The military denied this, but a senior general confirmed otherwise. The protestors are peaceful, she says. She has never thrown a rock but narrowly escaped being shot in the eye. Three of her friends have lost their eyesight; she adds that the riot police cheer each other on as they get a protestor in the eye; so far activists claim thousands have been shot in the eye.

Today’s protest is no different. As the clashes picked up pace, as the smell of tear gas wafted through the air more injured were carried to the four hospitals on the square. At the Midan hospital, at the center of the square, an optician and orthopedic doctor have come to volunteer. This part of the square has become a base; it is where the pharmacy, the food supplies, the blankets and masks are kept. Doctor Mahmoud has been at the Midan Hospital for two days without a break. Most who are rushed to the airport have suffered from suffocation because of tear gas. There are others who have been shot. Fractured bones and  broken limbs are common as well.

Most agree that the police have been too brutal. That their actions are not justified.

There is no line the police does not cross, explains the doctor. The hospital was knocked down the night before. The black rubbish bags that contain the medicines and syringes were knocked over. The dispensary with its contents in cardboard boxes was kicked and chucked over. But he won’t leave, he says, the people won’t move. This is how they got rid of Mubarak and this how they do it again.

But not all are as confident. A brother and sister, 18 and 20, stood next to a motorcycle. The loud banging on drums alerted thousands who had gathered. They picked up their bags, ready to run. Both had the flag wrapped around their necks, and in the moment of abortive flight, they looked like scared superheroes. Many of the youth that have come to Tahrir have come on the sly; their parents have no knowledge of their participation.

“They wouldn’t allow us to come,” says Posy Magddy, a student of engineering. She is soon to graduate and there are no jobs, there are no opportunities. Many 20 year olds are at the protests without permission. One 20-year-old activist who requested that his name be withheld, argued that had the youth been on the streets from the start, the 18 days of protest that unseated Mubarak would have been over in 3 days.

When they leave home, they know they may never return. At the front line nothing is visible. A popular social media activist and front line frequent, @Grendizer likens the front line to a mystical horror land.

Me: Have you ever looked into the eyes of the police?

@Grendizer: Never. They have visors.

Me: Ever spoken to them?

@Grendizer: Never will. They’re like the dementors, out to take our souls.

The dementors he speaks of are characters from the Harry Potter books. It is they, dressed in black, who are considered to be the scummiest of the scum, the filth of the earth out to prey on people. They are dark creatures and in the fog of war, in 100-meter chasm that separates the protestor from the black clad police officer. Dementors, as a description, is apt.

But the police are protecting the safety of some people. I stood on Bustan Street, close to the vortex of fighting. Most of the shops were closed in the residential area. A woman on a wheel chair covered her face with a handkerchief as she exited the building. She saw the scene and turned inside, she wanted the police there. Meanwhile the police have been attempting to close into Mohammed Mahmoud Street; they allege that the people want to take command of the Ministry of Interior. The rumour on the street is that the protestors want to set fire to the building.

An announcement from the police carried through the street: we will have no fear in shooting down those who venture near the ministry.

Then another tear gas canister explodes.

I spoke to many activists, none of them had any intention of taking control of the Ministry of Interior. The aim was to ensure that the police could not proceed towards Tahrir Square as they had done on Sunday – the most violent day. The news has been manipulated for the Maspero-watching audience, says activist Sherif.

Maspero has become the thorn in the revolution. It is the state TV, and it is one of the first places the Army secured when the protests against Mubarak stated. The logic in Egypt is, he who controls Maspero commands the state. Maspero and army involvement only came to head when the Maspero massacre happened on 9 October. Chants against Maspero are common; revolutionaries speak of overtaking the building. Many recall the loss of friends at the massacre where a peaceful demonstration resulted in army tanks driving on top of people’s bodies, killing 29. Maspero later announced that the protestors had killed army offiers.

Earlier this afternoon, Maspero justified police action because protestors wanted to attack the Ministry of Interior.

Nobody speaks out from the protestors. They have no leader, they have no spokesperson. The pride themselves in being a horizontal, leaderless movement. Many chant, “God is the leader of the revolution”.

But the romanticism fades over a few. Firas Al-Atraqchi, professor of journalism at AUC and former Jazeera journalist, questions whether a revolution took place at all. For him, January 25th was a Revolsion, an elusion of a revolution that resulted in a surge of political activity, but the failure occurred when the media apparatus was left intact. One of the central requirements of the revolution is seizing the mouthpiece, he says.

“Some people who were in Tahrir on January 25 are back now. It’s a huge awakening for them,” he says.

Many on Tahrir today claim to have got their revolution back. Will they be back tomorrow?

(Alia Allana is our lady of the Arab Spring.)

Previously in this series:

• Tahrir Square: An account of deadly clashes
• Istanbul: Adib Shishakly: The Syrian Rebel in the Hotel Room
• Libya-Tunisia border: Who isn’t a Shabaab these days?
• Jerba, Tunisia: The Synagogue and the Jihadi
• Tunis, Tunisia: “We are not like Iran here”
• Sidi Bou Said, Tunisia: Mickey wants to be the first one to vote
• Damascus, Syria: The Minister for Information maintains that there is no revolution
• Homs, Syria: A day in the rebel stronghold