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More than two years after protesters toppled Hosni Mubarak, Cairo is still ablaze with fiery visual reminders of Egypt's revolution. On the edge of Tahrir Square - the nerve centre of dissent - the burned-out tower block that once housed the headquarters of Mubarak's National Democratic Party (NDP) stands blackened and empty. It forms a jarring juxtaposition with the coral-pink walls of the Egyptian Museum, the dusty storehouse of the country's most precious antiquities, next door.
Around the corner, there is a different kind of monument to the revolution. Mohamed Mahmoud Street - which intersects with Tahrir Square from the east - is as colourful and vibrant as the sombre skeleton of the NDP building is charred. Almost every square centimetre of the walls that flank the street has been covered with bright, cacophonous paint. These murals are some of the best examples of the inimitable street art movement that has flourished since the protests against Mubarak began.
“There was very little street art in Egypt before the revolution," says Mia Gröndahl, a writer and photographer who has lived in Cairo since 2001, and whose book Revolution Graffiti: Street Art of the New Egypt was published in the UK last month. “So few pieces, in fact, that people weren't aware of it. But Egypt had the artists waiting to come out of the closet and express themselves honestly and politically."
Most of these artists were forged in the fire of the 18-day demonstrations against Mubarak in early 2011, when at least 846 people were killed. Emboldened by the ferocity of the protesters, several artists started painting slogans and murals commenting upon the tumultuous events that were convulsing their country. While other young protesters hurled bricks, Egypt's fledgling street artists picked up paintbrushes and spray cans. “By the summer of 2011," Gröndahl writes in her book, “people had started to talk about the walls of Egypt being under an 'art attack'."
Internet: < www.bbc.com> (adapted).
The Egyptian Museum, in Cairo, is close to the headquarters of the NDP which was burned during the 2011 revolution.
More than two years after protesters toppled Hosni Mubarak, Cairo is still ablaze with fiery visual reminders of Egypt's revolution. On the edge of Tahrir Square - the nerve centre of dissent - the burned-out tower block that once housed the headquarters of Mubarak's National Democratic Party (NDP) stands blackened and empty. It forms a jarring juxtaposition with the coral-pink walls of the Egyptian Museum, the dusty storehouse of the country's most precious antiquities, next door.
Around the corner, there is a different kind of monument to the revolution. Mohamed Mahmoud Street - which intersects with Tahrir Square from the east - is as colourful and vibrant as the sombre skeleton of the NDP building is charred. Almost every square centimetre of the walls that flank the street has been covered with bright, cacophonous paint. These murals are some of the best examples of the inimitable street art movement that has flourished since the protests against Mubarak began.
“There was very little street art in Egypt before the revolution," says Mia Gröndahl, a writer and photographer who has lived in Cairo since 2001, and whose book Revolution Graffiti: Street Art of the New Egypt was published in the UK last month. “So few pieces, in fact, that people weren't aware of it. But Egypt had the artists waiting to come out of the closet and express themselves honestly and politically."
Most of these artists were forged in the fire of the 18-day demonstrations against Mubarak in early 2011, when at least 846 people were killed. Emboldened by the ferocity of the protesters, several artists started painting slogans and murals commenting upon the tumultuous events that were convulsing their country. While other young protesters hurled bricks, Egypt's fledgling street artists picked up paintbrushes and spray cans. “By the summer of 2011," Gröndahl writes in her book, “people had started to talk about the walls of Egypt being under an 'art attack'."
Internet: < www.bbc.com> (adapted).
The art created by the street artists was also a target of violent attacks.
More than two years after protesters toppled Hosni Mubarak, Cairo is still ablaze with fiery visual reminders of Egypt's revolution. On the edge of Tahrir Square - the nerve centre of dissent - the burned-out tower block that once housed the headquarters of Mubarak's National Democratic Party (NDP) stands blackened and empty. It forms a jarring juxtaposition with the coral-pink walls of the Egyptian Museum, the dusty storehouse of the country's most precious antiquities, next door.
Around the corner, there is a different kind of monument to the revolution. Mohamed Mahmoud Street - which intersects with Tahrir Square from the east - is as colourful and vibrant as the sombre skeleton of the NDP building is charred. Almost every square centimetre of the walls that flank the street has been covered with bright, cacophonous paint. These murals are some of the best examples of the inimitable street art movement that has flourished since the protests against Mubarak began.
“There was very little street art in Egypt before the revolution," says Mia Gröndahl, a writer and photographer who has lived in Cairo since 2001, and whose book Revolution Graffiti: Street Art of the New Egypt was published in the UK last month. “So few pieces, in fact, that people weren't aware of it. But Egypt had the artists waiting to come out of the closet and express themselves honestly and politically."
Most of these artists were forged in the fire of the 18-day demonstrations against Mubarak in early 2011, when at least 846 people were killed. Emboldened by the ferocity of the protesters, several artists started painting slogans and murals commenting upon the tumultuous events that were convulsing their country. While other young protesters hurled bricks, Egypt's fledgling street artists picked up paintbrushes and spray cans. “By the summer of 2011," Gröndahl writes in her book, “people had started to talk about the walls of Egypt being under an 'art attack'."
Internet: < www.bbc.com> (adapted).
Some of the street artists were fierce critics of Mubarak, and then they decided to demonstrate their anger through their art
More than two years after protesters toppled Hosni Mubarak, Cairo is still ablaze with fiery visual reminders of Egypt's revolution. On the edge of Tahrir Square - the nerve centre of dissent - the burned-out tower block that once housed the headquarters of Mubarak's National Democratic Party (NDP) stands blackened and empty. It forms a jarring juxtaposition with the coral-pink walls of the Egyptian Museum, the dusty storehouse of the country's most precious antiquities, next door.
Around the corner, there is a different kind of monument to the revolution. Mohamed Mahmoud Street - which intersects with Tahrir Square from the east - is as colourful and vibrant as the sombre skeleton of the NDP building is charred. Almost every square centimetre of the walls that flank the street has been covered with bright, cacophonous paint. These murals are some of the best examples of the inimitable street art movement that has flourished since the protests against Mubarak began.
“There was very little street art in Egypt before the revolution," says Mia Gröndahl, a writer and photographer who has lived in Cairo since 2001, and whose book Revolution Graffiti: Street Art of the New Egypt was published in the UK last month. “So few pieces, in fact, that people weren't aware of it. But Egypt had the artists waiting to come out of the closet and express themselves honestly and politically."
Most of these artists were forged in the fire of the 18-day demonstrations against Mubarak in early 2011, when at least 846 people were killed. Emboldened by the ferocity of the protesters, several artists started painting slogans and murals commenting upon the tumultuous events that were convulsing their country. While other young protesters hurled bricks, Egypt's fledgling street artists picked up paintbrushes and spray cans. “By the summer of 2011," Gröndahl writes in her book, “people had started to talk about the walls of Egypt being under an 'art attack'."
Internet: < www.bbc.com> (adapted).
The street art movement thrived after the first protests against president Hosni Mubarak.
Sweden is leading the world in allowing private companies to run public institutions
Saint Goran's hospital is one of the glories of the Swedish welfare state. It is also a laboratory for applying business principles to the public sector. The hospital is run by a private company, Capio, which in turn is run by a consortium of private-equity funds, including Nordic Capital and Apax Partners. The doctors and nurses are Capio employees, answerable to a boss and a board.
Welcome to health care in post-ideological Sweden. From the patient's point of view, St Goran's is no different from any other public hospital. Treatment is free, after a nominal charge which is universal in Sweden. St Goran's gets nearly all its money from the state. But behind the scenes it has led a revolution in the relationship between government and business. In the mid-1990s St Goran's was slated for closure. Then, in 1999, the Stockholm County Council struck a deal with Capio to take over the day-to-day operation of the hospital. In 2006 Capio was taken over by a group of private-equity firms led by Nordic Capital. Stockholm County Council recently extended Capio's contract until 2021.
St Goran's is now a temple to “lean management" - an idea that was pioneered by Toyota in the 1950s and has since spread from car-making to services and from Japan to the rest of the world. Britta Wallgren, the hospital's chief executive, says she never heard the term “lean" when she was at medical school (she is an anaesthetist by training). Now she hears it all the time.
The hospital today is organised on the twin lean principles of “flow" and “quality". Doctors and nurses used to keep a professional distance from each other. Now they work (and sit) together in teams. In the old days people concentrated solely on their field of medical expertise. Now they are all responsible for suggesting operational improvements as well.
Internet: < www.economist.com> (adapted).
The deal made with Capio prevented the hospital from being closed.