By Jennifer Peterson

The morning following Hosni Mubarak’s resignation as president of Egypt, volunteers physically and symbolically cleaned the Tahrir protest space that had served as a rallying point for the last 18 days of anti-regime demonstrations. The cleaning spree soon expanded: by early afternoon middle-aged women in full-makeup were dusting the railings of Qasr al-Nil Bridge, while veiled teenagers swept up debris outside downtown cafes and bars. Egyptians were taking ownership of the public space previously seen as the property of the government.

Within days, the tough teenagers of my dirt alleyway removed the ubiquitous street litter, hung trash bins on every corner, and painted the buildings a head-high, street-length flag of black, white and pink (pure red being too expensive). This psychedelic tunnel of patriotism was then ornamented with posters declaring “We’ll change ourselves first!” and condemning non-civilized behavior (“Don’t cut in line,” “Don’t harass girls”). The teenagers scribbled over the poster sponsorship script (“with the greetings of the Muslim Brotherhood”), rejecting outside patronage of their reinvented lifestyle.

The process of national self-discovery that will form the shape and character of eventual political and civil restructuring in Egypt began during the last week of January 2011 as citizens shed their fear of the ruling police apparatus. Over the next fortnight, a utopian community was formed in Tahrir Square, where Egyptians of all stripes and colors united under a common cause that fostered mutual respect despite otherwise divisive differences. Spontaneous discussions and debates among strangers bubbled up as class-conscious, politically-reticent Egyptians began getting to know one another.

Many months later, the Jan. 25 uprising remains far from being resolved, and is not always as pretty as one might hope. The events of last weekend, when Coptic demonstrators clashed with the army, leaving some two-dozen dead, reaffirmed this reality. As surely as my alleyway has refilled with garbage and its painted walls been splotched and pock-marked, the revolutionary optimism of the spring has yielded to political frustration, conspiracy theorizing, and envy of other Arab uprisings’ achievements. And, as beautification of reclaimed public space has often come to highlight deeply-rooted structural flaws, “changing ourselves first” has required a close look at “who we are,” touching off personal identity crises and igniting a nation-wide culture war.

When Public Enemy No. 1 was removed from the arena, angst over what shape the freed nation would take spurred what was initially dialogue into frenzied claims and defenses of cultural legitimacy. The first skirmishes in the ensuing post-Mubarak culture war targeted the March referendum on constitutional amendments: isolated civic-secularists urged a vote of “no” to safeguard possible creation of an ideal constitution, while organized Islamists convinced the masses that voting “yes” would prevent future rule by infidels.

Occasional Tahrir demonstrations began to be tempered by ideological posturing. In May, I was stunned to encounter a demonstrator whose Islamist garb of beard and short gallabiya was adorned with a green sash reading “Mohammad’s army” tied about his skullcap, and which held in place a color photograph of Osama bin Laden. At the July “Friday of Identity” demonstration, nicknamed “Kandahar Friday” by some detractors, hoisted flags bore the slogan “The Koran is our constitution,” while revolutionary chants were rephrased to “The people want the application of Islamic law.”

Public statements by Islamist figures have further stoked fears that Egypt will be narrowly defined in a tight Arab-Islamic frame. One leader has urged that Pharaonic statues be covered because idols and human images are forbidden in Islam, while another has called for removing ancient Egyptian (“infidel”) history from national school curricula. Islamist presidential candidate Hazem Salah Abu Ismail has turned secularists’ fears into a feasible reality by declaring that all Egyptian women, Muslim and otherwise, should be veiled in public.

The breathing space to freely express oneself and the self-claimed right to politically organize in post-Mubarak Egypt have unleashed a spirit of experimentation. Citizens are testing these boundaries, sometimes pushing to extremes. Islamists are bolder than ever before, but their sensational fervor is more often than not producing backlashes among the so-called “silent majority.”

The culture war taking place in Egypt today will eventually shape the political and legal parameters of the nation. Yet until (and surely even after) such concrete measures begin to crystallize, Egyptians will continue to invest much of their energy into exploring, discovering, defining who they are. Local, personalized initiatives will maintain their political urgency as long as Egyptians continue to fine-tune their reinvention of themselves.

Jennifer Peterson is an independent researcher and filmmaker residing in Cairo. This commentary first appeared at bitterlemons-international.org, an online newsletter.