Three years ago, the third of July was one of the worst days of my life, amid the political turmoil and chaos that became completely irrelevant to me that day. More than 80 women were subjected to sexual assault or rape in Tahrir Square during the celebrations that erupted after President Mohamed Morsi was ousted. Cheers of the masses were mixed with screams of terror, fireworks and the sounds of helicopter blades making their way over the frantic crowds. It was a day that my faith in everything – first and foremost humanity – was shaken, a day where I believe every member of our intervention team was scarred forever in a different way; I couldn’t even imagine what the sexual assault survivors feel as a result of that day’s horrors. No word was said in the media on the atrocities committed on a massive scale that day, of course. It was a time of joy, picture-perfect happy crowds. I was walking back to my team with a couple of other volunteers on our way back from a scouting mission around the square to try and spot sexual harassment or…
