“Photojournalist’s account: ‘This is what it looks like just before the Muslim Brotherhood jumps you’”
“All I smell is sweat and spray-paint. All I see are fists. I’m thinking of last year, watching protesters pull a riot cop out of Tahrir Square into an alley and telling Bucky, “That guy is dead.”
Now I’m thinking, “I’m that guy.”
…my family was trying to scare me from going near protests. But from the balcony, I can only shoot crap photos, so I…head out onto the streets.
I spot a dozen men…writing graffiti — “Morsi is my president…
I…ask permission to shoot, in Arabic. “Yeah, we’re not afraid,” they say…this burly man runs up to…the Saint Fatima Church… He spray-paints “Islameya.”
An older protester runs…up, pleading with him to stop: That’s against Islam, because Lakum deenukum Waliya Deen — “For you is your religion, and for me is mine.”
The vandal clocks him…others…drag him away…
I’m snapping away. I have permission. I’m cool…he turns around.
“Why are you taking pictures of me?!” he yells…he lunges at me, spray-can aimed.
Next thing I know, twenty people surround me. Hands on my arms, on my legs, around my neck. They’re trying to tear me apart.”