By James Buck, Graduate Student
UC Berkeley, School of Journalism
July, 18, 2008

I don't even remember filling out the form that saved my life. In the whirlwind of checking equipment and signing released before I left for Egypt, the insurance form must have come across my desk -- probably sent to me by my department. I'm sure I didn't know what it meant.

But 7,000 miles away in an industrial city along the Nile River I felt the impact of University of California like never before. In April, I was kidnapped by Egyptian state security forces for photographing a protest. The previously quiet town erupted suddenly in riots while I there. It was amazing material for photographs but deadly dangerous.

Egypt is a strong American ally, receiving more than a billion dollars a year in aid. It's a modern country with a climbing economy and is frequently called the hub of the Middle East. There's a dark underbelly, though; the president has been in power for 27 years, using martial law to keep office. Anything that threatens to tarnish his image is swiftly punished with brutal force. I went there to photograph the rising tide of blogger-activist-journalists who are using self-publishing to free the media and expose the secrets of the repressive government. It was my fourth trip in two years, and I speak Arabic.

The night of April 10th was gently falling in Mahalla, two hours north of Cairo, where rioting had been taking place for days. I had been there photographing for four days, and I knew I was becoming a nuisance to the police. Several times they had tried to apprehend me, to harass and intimidate me, but I kept going back.

As an American I've always had a sense of security and justice. If I got arrested, I was sure I would be rescued. When the security officer boarded my taxi by force and I knew I was about to disappear, the first thing I yelled in his angry face was, "I'm an American!" half-assuming, half-hoping those words would ensure my fair treatment.

But at 2 am when I was lying on the cold floor of an office building surrounded by police with assault rifles I realized that it didn't matter who I was. I was alone.

Two things saved my life: the American Embassy and the University of California. I'm not even sure who did what as the terrifying hours unfolded while I was locked away in a fortress of mustachioed men who pretended not to understand me begging, yelling to call my embassy. I had imagined a convoy of armored black Escalades with American flags would screech up to the door and demand my release, but after the US embassy official I finally called in secret told me to "give up my [camera] bag, or they'd take it by force," I realized that my action-movie-addled brain had lent me a false sense of security and importance in a place where I was nobody.

The Embassy, I learned, negotiated a deal for my release. But it wasn't enforced until my lawyer from the University of California showed up at 9 am the morning of the 11th. I woke up from a short nap on a hard plastic chair to see a man in a gray suit standing over me, talking to my translator Mohammed.

"He's here to take you back to Cairo," Mohammed told me. With the lawyer I was finally allowed to leave the building where the night before I had been re-captured after being initially released.

The lawyer didn't know me and I didn't know him. But when news of my arrest got back to UC, the school -- because I had signed the release -- got me a lawyer, a plane ticket home, and a security professional to accompany me through the airport check in right to my gate.

My translator had no one to help him the way I did. He spent three months in prison subject to brutal torture because he didn't have the resources I had. It's a terrible feeling of guilt, but I recognize that it's a privilege to feel that guilt because I'm home, I'm safe.

The University of California has an incredible army at their disposal that helped when I didn't think I would need it.

It only takes a few minutes to register, and while we all get tired of filling out forms and paperwork, the few minutes it took to complete the on line application were a great investment of my time and critical to my survival. I encourage all faculty, staff, and students to register and learn about this valuable program.