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Millions tune in to see former leader face charges as confusion reigns in Cairo courtroom and violence continues outside The last time Hosni Mubarak visited New Cairo’s police academy building, his name was written above the door – one institution among hundreds around the country, from schools to metro stations, that had been named after the wartime pilot who rose to become president and transformed Egypt into his private fiefdom. On that day – 23 January this year, only 48 hours before revolution swept the streets – Mubarak thanked his police force, the group he relied upon to continue his three decades in power. “I and all Egyptians salute policemen on their day of celebration and affirm our pride in their role and sacrifice,” he said to an apparently devoted audience. Just over six months later, Mubarak returned to the police academy on Wednesday morning to find his name unceremoniously stripped from the walls. His lectern had been replaced by a metal cage, his suit swapped for standard-issue prison overalls, his security forces and judiciary now tasked with locking him up and deciding his culpability, a verdict that could lead to his execution. The struggles against dictatorship that have consumed the Arab world this year boast many historic moments, but few were as dramatic, or cathartic, as this. Lying on a stretcher under the gaze of state television cameras and accompanied by his two sons and codefendants, Alaa and Gamal, the 83-year-old spoke only once to confirm his presence and enter a plea. “I deny all these charges and accusations categorically,” he said. The case was adjourned until 15 August. At times, the trial that most Egyptians thought could never happen – at least partly because there was widespread scepticism that Egypt’s ruling generals would ever bow to public pressure and turn so decisively against their former commander-in-chief – descended into a bawdy cocktail of confusion and farce. As rocks flew outside the temporary court house, courtesy of running battles between supporters and opponents of Mubarak which left 53 people injured, mayhem often prevailed within. Lawyers squabbled and shouted to gain the beleaguered judge’s attention as he tried to deal with procedural matters; at one point, an attorney even demanded Mubarak be given a DNA test, claiming he had actually died in 2004 and had been replaced by an impostor. But moments of levity, including a camera shot of the former tyrant picking his nose, quickly melted away as the prosecutor read to Mubarak the accusations against him. This was still history in the making. The three charges – profiteering, illegal business-dealing involving Israeli gas exports, and the unlawful killing of protesters who rose up to challenge his rule – may not even begin to encompass the crimes committed by his regime, but they all spoke to key aspects of the nation Mubarak created. Twenty years after Egypt first accepted an IMF “structural adjustment package” and embarked on aggressive neo-liberal reforms that left 90% of the country worse off but enriched the elite to unimaginable levels, corruption remains one of the defining features of modern Egypt. So does political stagnation, symbolised by the country’s declining status in the region and the pursuit of a slavish pro-US and pro-Israeli foreign policy, of which subsidised gas exports to Israel were only one component. And the state-sponsored murder of demonstrators in January and February this year arose from a security apparatus in which torture and abuse had become systematically embedded. As the litany of wrongdoing continued and the names of some of those who died in the uprising were read, many onlookers wept. “It’s a glorious day,” said Hossam Bahgat, head of the Egyptian Initiative for Personal Rights. “Many of us were worried Mubarak would use the trial to turn public opinion in his favour and plea for sympathy, but in fact it revived that sense of achievement we felt when he was unseated back in February. This can only be good for the revolution.” The court could extend its current remit. Other people and institutions were implicated by lawyers and may be dragged in – including state media officials accused of spreading disinformation during the protests, mobile firms who agreed to shut down their networks at the height of the revolt, and Omar Suleiman, Mubarak’s intelligence chief and, briefly, vice-president, who is yet to face any charges. “We’re now getting a sense of the byproducts that may come out of Mubarak’s prosecution,” said Bahgat. “These are examples of how the trial will not just provide justice for victims of the uprising and their families, but also shed real light on the truth of what happened during those 18 days. That’s particularly important given the military council’s refusal to initiate a fact-finding mission into all the past crimes of the Mubarak regime.” The army generals will also be watching proceedings nervously. They can expect a short-term popularity boost after keeping their promise to put Mubarak in the dock, but remain uneasy about what revelations may emerge when he takes the stand. Samer Shehata, an assistant professor and Egypt expert at Georgetown University, said: “Some of the lawyers have already requested that [Egypt's current de facto leader, field marshall Mohamed Hussein] Tantawi, [army chief of staff] Sami Anan and other senior generals come to the court and bear witness. I don’t think their attendance is likely, but there’s certainly a possibility that Mubarak, if cornered, might start speaking about the extent of corruption within the military council and pinpoint Tantawi in particular.” Relations between the military and revolutionaries are at an all-time low following a brutal assault by soldiers in Tahrir Square this week and the persistent use of military trials, a timely reminder of just how far Egypt still has to go in its battle for meaningful reform. As Mubarak’s case was concluded for the day, only a few miles across town, demonstrators who had been participating in the Tahrir sit-in were being interrogated at a different courthouse, accused of breaking a new law created by the generals which forbids protests. Tantawi and his fellow officers have done their best to paint these young people as baltagiyya , or thugs, but were it not for their street rallies, there is little doubt Mubarak would not be on trial. Mona Seif, a cancer researcher who campaigns against arbitrary arrests and military trials, and who has been involved in the occupation of Tahrir, said: “We’re celebrating today because it’s not just about seeing Mubarak in court, it’s also about regaining a bit of the popular support that we seem to have lost recently. “We keep on getting framed by the media as people who don’t have anything better to do than sit in the road and make trouble, so for those of us who have been detained and beaten in the process, the knowledge that it was our pressure that forced them to have this public trial – that’s very uplifting.” Millions were glued to their TVs as the trial unfolded, turning central Cairo into a ghost town and sending the stock exchange to a 10-year low as traders stopped work to follow proceedings. Many companies set up viewing areas for staff; others stayed at home, such as Gelal Faisal Ali, whose brother was killed during the uprising. “The martyrs’ families had lost faith in the judicial system, and we thought that today the court would do little other than try to calm public anger,” Ali said. “Forgive me, but I am still concerned that this is what’s happening. Mubarak deserves nothing less than the death penalty.” Some took a different view, arguing that the sight of a former leader behind bars was a national humiliation. Reda Tohami Ibrahim, the owner of a Cairo clothing store, was one: “If there has to be a court case, it shouldn’t be public – this is a man with a long history. The entire world is watching this charade, and as an Egyptian I say it’s not fitting or appropriate.” Ibrahim’s objections put him in a minority on a day that, for all the procedural wrangling, will stand as a symbolic landmark not just for Egypt, but for much of the world beyond. “We don’t know what will happen next, because none of this has been scripted,” said Shehata at Georgetown University. After three decades of having the script written for them by one of modern history’s most entrenched dictators, that messy uncertainty is just what many Egyptians have been looking forward to. Additional reporting by Mohamed El-Dahshan Hosni Mubarak Egypt Africa Middle East Arab and Middle East unrest Protest Jack Shenker Mohamed El Dahshan guardian.co.uk