Living Like A G

If we were Gehad El-Haddad, we would think the past two weeks of work utterly sucked.

If we were Gehad El-Haddad, you would find us at Pub 28. We would rather go to a hip and trendy place like Tamarai, but we wouldn’t want to risk running into my bosses’ children. It would be awkward and they would probably snitch.

Pub 28 also has the best Chicken Pane in the city – and weeks like these command a high consumption of Cairo’s finest comfort food.

We would sit at our usual table and put our silenced phone face down to avoid the scathing, disappointed glares from our wife and two kids.

And we wouldn’t look at Twitter.

Moody – our waiter, would solemnly hand us our usual order – double shot of Jack with ice.

We would lift our glass to the few former NDP members – who would also be at the pub to enjoy the Pane.

They would lift their glasses back and offer a certain expression. Not one of disdain. Not one of loathing – but one that says, “We’ve been there too.”

The first glass would go down, then the second, and then the third.

Over 56 thousand followers we would have on Twitter.

And none of them would like us for us.

Over 56 thousand followers on Twitter have exposed us as a liar and a terrorist.

And it would make us hate ourselves.

I would order another drink. And more chicken.

If we were Gehad El-Haddad, we would expect several to invite themselves to our table.

They would ask us obvious questions like, “Why are you doing this? Why are you encouraging people to die?”  And of course they would conclude with,  “Why aren’t you out there dieing?”

And we would casually slur the words, “Because my religion needs me too.”

They would then offer the typical “God doesn’t need YOU to tweet His message. He’s pretty capable of getting his message across himself.”

Obviously – they want our job.

We would roll my eyes and finish off with “We’ll agree to disagree.”

As the night would blur on – we would ask ourselves philosophical questions like, “What do they put in the pane” and “Why did my parents call me Gehad?”

We would wonder if anyone realizes the irony.

Moody would gently place his hand on our shoulder and alert us the pub was closing. We would lift our phone to look at a screen smothered in hate. There would be the occasional tweet from people we would respect – and we would read their desperate pleas as they would beg us to step away from the ledge.

And we would want to listen. Because they would make sense.

As we would make our way to the crisp evening air – one simple thought would propel us to sobriety – I live in a nation where we have less lovers than haters.

If we were Gehad El-Haddad, we would ask ourselves one last question.

Is it worth it?

But WE are not Gehad El-Haddad – and WE never could be.

Because WE could never convince people to sacrifice their lives for a cause while WE hide behind our phone screen.

Because WE couldn’t lie to thousands of people in order to manipulate public opinion. Because WE see things in color and WE know that politics isn’t simply black and white.

And most of all – because WE don’t believe it’s worth it.