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When, on the morning of November 17, I received a call from Epigraphic Survey team member Ted Castle informing me that there was shooting going on in the hills above Medinet Habu, I at first didn't grasp the import of what he was telling me. But when he continued by saying that the Medinet Habu temple precinct had been cordoned off by police, and no was was allowed in or out of the temple, including our crew - half of whom were inside and half outside at tea break - the horrible realization hit me: it had finally happened. I was assured that our people were safely out of range of what was going on in the hills immediately to the west of the temple and the word was that something had taken place at Deir el Bahari, but no one really knew what. Shortly after Ted and I talked, the crew was allowed to leave the temple, and they returned to Chicago House safe and sound.
Luckily we and the other archaeological missions working on the west bank - Nigel Strudwick and his associates from Cambridge and Elena Grothe's German team, both recording west bank tombs; the UCLA mission under the direction of Daniel Polz at Dra Abu el Naga; and the French at the Ramesseum - were not directly affected by the tragedy which had taken place; but everyone could hear the shots and knew that something dreadful was afoot. When the shooting was over, all of the expeditions went back to their hotels and dig houses to wait for news of exactly what had happened.
The world is now fully informed of the horror that occurred at Hatshepsut's mortuary temple, but that day and for several days afterward, the information locally was spotty and the rumors were flying. As the facts of the massacre slowly emerged, we were appalled to find that many of the worst rumors turned out ultimately to be true, and the loss of life was much greater than anyone originally had thought. It was unsettling to be so near the site, whch we can see across the river from our house, and know so very little about what had really happened. Reporters from all the major news agencies began calling us immediately, but all I could tell them was that we didn't know anything and could tell them nothing. One of my immediate tasks was to ensure that when our people back home woke up to the news that morning (we are eight hours ahead of Chicago here in Luxor), they also would have the news awaiting from me that our crew were all safe and had been at no time in any danger. That was accomplished in short order with the aid of faxes and e-mail, and did the trick; thank God for teletelecommunications technology!
As the full details of what had occurred at Deir el Bahari finally became known, the reaction of foreign embassies in Egypt was swift; travel advisories were broadcast everywhere and many travel agencies, particularly in Britain, horrified by the brutality of the killings, yanked their tour groups back home as fast as they could get them on flights out of Egypt. At the same time, security in Luxor was reinforced, and the heads of the various police forces were all replaced, almost overnight. The whole security situation in Luxor is now being rethought and completely revamped. Embassies got in touch with their respective archaeological missions (the U.S. Embassy in Cairo and I were in contact), and discussed mutual concerns for safety. The Chicago team unanimously decided to continue our normal archaeological work schedule, with caution; and that is what we have have done. All of the foreign and Egyptian expeditions agree that to do otherwise would be giving in to terror, which everyone is loathe to do. At the same time, the truth is that Luxor has never been more secure than it is today.
At first everyone's reaction to the Deir el Bahari massacre was stunned disbelief; no one could comprehend that what happened there could have possibly happened in Luxor, of all places. But soon the shock experienced by the local Egyptians turned to anger; the hideousness of the event that had so brutally torn Luxor's innocence away tarnished Egypt and Islam to a degree that was beyond endurance. During the week after the incident, as Luxor saw its tourists, revenues and reputation quickly drain away, the grief and frustration of the local population grew.
On November 22 I hiked to Hatshepsut's mortuary temple after work at Medinet Habu. The site was largely deserted, and as I ascended the ramp to the middle terrace where the killings had taken place, I was struck by how peaceful the temple felt, totally belying the awful event that had so recently occurred there. As I walked through the porticos where the unfortunate tour groups had been trapped and died, I found almost no trace of what had happened. The blood on the walls and pillars had been scoured away, and sand - some of it now discolored - had been spread over the stained paving stones. One would never guess that anything unusual had taken place there only a few days before, were it not for the bouquets of dead flowers which were lying on the paving stones, and the smeared handprints of one of the pavingvictims still visible below the Punt reliefs: mute testimony of the final moments of someone who probably loved those reliefs as much as I do. It was then that I knew beyond any shadow of a doubt that, yes, this terrible thing indeed had happened there.
I had finished my inspection and was preparing to descend, when I noticed a crowd of people at the end of the long road leading to Deir el Bahari, heading in the direction of the temple in a huge cloud of dust. I heard them before I actually saw them, a sound like swarming insects. When I realized how many people were in the approaching crowd, I was flabbergasted. I had been present at the last evening of the Aida performance at the site the month before, attended by 5,000 people. Well, that many individuals were now on their way up the road, and there I was, all alone except for a small group of Japanese tourists, who were watching with growing alarm. We were potentially trapped on the very same terrace where only a short while before others had been trapped, and for a split second I felt a terrible empathy with those poor souls. It was not a pleasant feeling, at all.
The crowd was moving faster now and growing even larger, filling the road for its entire length and beyond. People were brandishing banners and placards, and I could hear shouting and chanting as they reached the first guard post. This was quickly breached, despite the efforts of the police to halt their advance. Other police ran to the second guard post in front of the mortuary temple precinct; but they, too, were unsuccessful in halting the huge surging crowd. In seconds it was streaming into the complex, filling it and running up the first ramp towards where I was standing. And then it dawned on me what was going on.
It was a massive rally against terrorism! Hundreds of men and children from the west bank of Luxor poured onto the terrace, carrying palm fronds, Egyptian flags, leaf-filled branches and banners hand-lettered in English, French, German and Arabic - all denouncing terrorism and the brutal act that had occurred there, and apologizing to Egypt's "guests." They filled the terrace to overflowing, and kept on coming. I recognized taxi drivers and boatmen, Egyptian Antiquities inspectors and local families, farmers and shopkeepers, and children, children, children. People came up to me with tears in their eyes and apologized to me, embraced me, told me how sorry and angry they were that this awful thing had happened. I was moved beyond words and felt the tears rise in my own eyes. It was amazing and uplifting. I have never seen anything like it in all of my time in Egypt. There were so many people in the crowd that there wasn't room for everyone on the terrace; many stayed below, chanting and singing, giving vent to their collective sorrow and outrage.
And then it was over. Before I knew it, the crowd was pouring back down the road, back the way it had come, while I stayed above and watched. The noise gradually diminished, the dust eventually settled, and it was as it had been before. But the air was charged now with something wonderful, an energy that was almost palpable; and I knew that Luxor would recover, because its people were not about to be defeated by horror. They were fighting it and they would win. I was so grateful to have witnessed what I did, and felt incredibly hopeful for the future. The feeling has stayed with me.
There were other demonstrations on the following days, some on the west bank, some on the east in Luxor proper. One of them processed up and down the corniche, and consisted mainly of children holding placards picturing President Mubarek, Egyptian flags and anti-terrorist banners. While they marched adults shouted "NO!" to terrorism. Have there been any western reports documenting this? Of course not.
Luxor is a very quiet town now. The lack of tourists is tangible, many of the hotels are almost empty and the antiquities sites are unencumbered by the massive tour groups that usually fill them to overflowing. This is not necessarily a bad thing, but one wishes the reason was thoughtfulness, not fear. The local merchants and travel agencies are devastated, and one's heart goes out to them the most. The town has not closed down the way it did during the Gulf War, but almost.
It will recover, probably sooner than one would suspect; but for now Luxor must wait. In the meantime our epigraphic work continues apace. We are determined to make the most of the period ahead, for we have been shown that, while we must have faith in the future, we also must take nothing for granted. It can only be hoped that the terrible wounds suffered here of late will heal in time. Time will tell.
29 November 1997
About the Author: Dr. W. Raymond Johnson is director of the Epigraphic Survey of the Oriental Institute, University of Chicago.
(Editor's Note: On the evening of December 10, 1997, a memorial service was held at the candle-lighted Mortuary Temple of Hatshepsut, to honor the fifty-eight foreign tourists and four Egyptians massacred during the terrorist attack there in November.. More than 2,000 persons were invited to the service and hundreds more marched to the Deir el Bahari site, carrying banners denouncing terrorism. Egyptian President Mubarek and numerous other government
ministers were in attendence, and the program was highlighted by Egyptian actor Omar Sharif reading a state-sponsored message written by 86-year-old Nobel prize winning author Negib Mahfouz, which in part said that the massacre was "a stab inflicted on the body of all the people of egypt...[who] now wish to express to the world their deepest apologies and sincere condolences." The Cairo Opera Orchestra played "Tears of Anger" from Verdi's Requiem, and the Bulgarian National Choir sang. A Nubian troup, wearing white turbans and robes, beat drums in mourning.)
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