Egypt's rock rebel Ramy Essam: 'My cause is humanity and freedom'

He wants to return soon, but he says his fans are still harassed by police if his music is found on their phones and that if he did try to perform it would have to be “totally underground – like ‘sing and run’”. 

“I am Egyptian. I love my country,” he proclaims, citing influences like seminal late Egyptian composer and singer Sayed Darwish, the alternative band Nagham Masry and hip-hop artist MC Amin as Egyptian idols.

“But I’m not a nationalist. I just want my country to be good. I’m not asking for much. I just want homes for everyone, safety, education, healthcare - the normal basic human rights,” he added.

When reminded that these were late president Gamal Abdel Nasser’s promises too, he does not miss a beat. “Promises, yes, but look what happened. The whole reason we’re in this mess with military rule is because of him. Although he would be sad to see what his legacy has become.” 

Many Egyptians compare former army chief Sisi to Abdel Nasser, the charismatic colonel who led a coup against the monarchy in 1952 and started an army-led autocracy.

I’m not a nationalist. I just want my country to be good

- Ramy Essam

For a moment I catch a glimpse of sadness in Essam’s eyes. But when I ask him what he thinks of the bromance between Trump and Sisi, the glint of resistance returns to his gaze.

“Actually,” he confides, “I was thinking of rewriting the lyrics to my hit song about Sisi – The Age of the Pimp - with  a verse about Trump and Putin.”

Essam's nostalgia for the heady days of post-Mubarak Cairo is still palpable.

“From the fall of Mubarak in 2011 until midway through 2013,” he recalls, “it was an exciting time to be an artist in Cairo. You could perform everywhere – it was amazing. You could just go somewhere, build a stage without taking permission from the police, and just do a concert and make the people happy. But then it all disappeared,” he said.

“One day,” he relates, as the military replaced the resistance to ousted president Mohamed Morsi “we found ourselves, the independents, alone. We were not organised enough to lead the revolution. We didn’t have any kind of leadership – a person or a project to fight for. We were waiting for a saviour who never came.” 

We were not organised enough to lead the revolution… We were waiting for a saviour who never came

- Ramy Essam

When military rule returned in the post-Morsi era, he says, “they censored everything like Mubarak had done before”.

One of his songs on the new album El Gahsh Wel Homar (The Donkey and his Son) – a conversation between a dictator and his son – was in fact written anonymously by a Mubarak-era poet, a common practice at the time. Today, the problem, he says, is self-censorship.

“When artists start to think twice about things before writing songs,” he notes, “this is a dangerous moment for a culture.”

An artist not an activist

The young singer was an architecture student in the town of Mansoura who dreamed of being a rock star, before the 2011 Egyptian revolution inspired him to write more strident songs of protest. His subsequent abuse by Egyptian military police – he was detained for eight hours on 9 March 2011 during a protest in Tahrir Square and tortured in the Egyptian museum as documented on 60 Minutes – only served to embolden his resolve. 

I’m not asking for much. I just want homes for everyone, safety, education, healthcare - the normal basic human rights

- Ramy Essam

But after two years of playing and protesting throughout Egypt, and remaining fiercely independent in spite of overtures from the plethora of post-Mubarak political parties, his popularity declined in June of 2013. At the height of anti-Morsi sentiment, which Essam shared with thousands, he refused to embrace the military as an alternative.

A few days before Morsi was removed from power by the military coup in 2013, Essam sang a song against him titled Come on, resign. But with Essam’s refusal to support the military rule, his gigs dried up. 

After Sisi was “elected” by 97 percent in May of 2014, Essam relates that he was stopped at a checkpoint by a police officer in Suez singing his song Taty Taty  (Bow Your Head) in a sardonic tone. Armed with video footage of Essam performing an anti-police song in Tahrir Square, police held the singer overnight for interrogation.

With violent threats from soldiers on social media and in person, he relates, it seemed like an opportune moment to accept an invitation for an artistic residency in Malmo, Sweden, with ICORN (International Cities of Refuge Network) that was arranged via Freemuse, a nonprofit dedicated to the plight of persecuted musicians worldwide.

 It’s so hard to demonstrate now in public, but we can still sing

- Ramy Essam

Today Essam divides his time between Malmo, where his three-year-old son lives with his ex-wife, and Helsinki where he is currently collaborating with a group of Finnish musicians. He has just recorded a new album with them that will be released in early 2018, featuring his usual rock style mixed with traditional Egyptian percussion instruments. 

“Helsinki is an amazing place,” he enthuses. “My new favourite city. There is so much creative energy happening there.”

We can still sing

The real threat to the Egyptian regime, he says, is the “more than 50 million young people – people under 30 they can’t control or brainwash anymore like they used to, because of the internet and globalisation”.

“Artists are their only hope – culture the only tool that can show them the way. It’s so hard to demonstrate now in public, but we can still sing," he said.