An Egyptian protester waved his national flag as tens of thousands gathered for a demonstration at Cairo's Tahrir Square on April 8, 2011. Agence France-Presse/Getty Images

SIDI BOU ZID, Tunisia—Ali Bouazizi, who owns a grocery story at the center of this poor, remote North African town, was ecstatic when protests toppled his nation's dictator in January. These days, he sounds deflated.

"This uprising was for what?" he asked in a recent interview. In Tunisia, he said, "the people who have money and the heritage of the old regime aren't giving up control."

Mr. Bouazizi is no ordinary bystander to the revolution. He played a key role in igniting the unrest that has spread through much of the Arab world. In December, his cousin doused himself in gasoline and burned himself to death. Mr. Bouazizi posted on Facebook a video of the protest that followed, then alerted satellite-news channel Al Jazeera. Unrest spread rapidly from there.

But not much has gone the way many original protesters hoped. All across the region, the exuberant "Arab Spring" has morphed into a season of deadly crackdowns, sectarian strife and dimming prospects for democracy—at least in the form many original protesters envisioned.


Mideast Mosaic


Uprising in the Middle East


Regional Upheaval

Track events day by day.

In Tunisia and Egypt, where longtime rulers are gone, protest movements are fracturing over the question of what comes next. New political arrangements are coalescing, but they draw heavily from elements of the old regimes. Tunisia may have the best chance of producing a multi-party democracy, but it's far from clear it will be able to solve the deeper social problems that divide the country.

Religious and sectarian tensions, too, have surfaced, stalling movement toward representative government and open societies. In Egypt, the Muslim Brotherhood and other Islamist organizations are gaining influence, but their professed commitment to democracy remains untested. In Bahrain, the protests and government crackdowns have inflamed tensions between Sunni and Shiite Muslims. The island kingdom has blamed Shiite-dominated Iran for much of the unrest and invited in forces from Sunni-dominated Saudi Arabia, raising tensions across the entire Persian Gulf.

"We're in uncharted territory," says Mansoor Jamri, former editor of Al Wasat, Bahrain's independent newspaper, who resigned earlier this month following a controversy about the publication of protest photos. Sunni vigilantes occupied the paper's offices and attacked its printing presses. "Sunnis are not going to the Shiite areas, and vice versa.…There are lines you don't cross now."

Violence in Syria threatens to engulf the last corner of the Middle East relatively untouched by the uprisings. That neighborhood includes Lebanon, Israel and Jordan—all important to U.S. interests in the region.

None of the uprisings have played out like the young protesters who started them had expected. Finishing a revolution, they're discovering, is harder than starting one.

"We knew that it would take time," says Adel al-Surabi, the 29-year-old leader of a student coalition in Yemen, where the government has cracked down hard. At one point, government supporters fired at protesters from rooftops. "We expected resistance from the government, and we expected attacks," says Mr. al-Surabi. "But we never expected snipers."

The changing face of the revolutions is of concern to the U.S., which has backed the general demands for more democracy. What worries the U.S. is that the shifting demands might undermine its interests in Yemen, whose autocratic president has been an ally in fighting terrorism; in Bahrain, where the U.S. Navy's Fifth Fleet is based; or in Jordan and Egypt, which have worked closely with the U.S. in trying to resolve the conflict between Israel and the Palestinians.

What follows are reports from many of the region's hot spots, outlining the challenges faced by key protest participants as revolutionary effervescence gives way to unexpected complications.


The Religion Factor

In Egypt, traditionally regarded as a leader of the Arab world, the revolution began with youth activists in Tahrir Square. Hafez Abu Saada, director of the Egyptian Organization for Human Rights, was there with them.

Protesters in Cairo's Tahir Square on April 8 Agence France-Presse/Getty Images

These days, Mr. Saada and other secular activists who were at the forefront of the protests are warily watching two big organizations that survived the collapse of the former regime intact: the military and the Muslim Brotherhood.

The military formally rules the nation through a council designed to pass authority to a civilian government after a new president is elected. The Muslim Brotherhood, an Islamist political group that was illegal but tolerated under the regime of Hosni Mubarak, is now legal and enjoys wide support.

Reform leaders were unnerved by a March 19 national referendum on a handful of constitutional amendments, which snowballed into a battle over the direction of the reform movement and the extent to which Egypt should become a secular, pluralistic democracy.

On the surface, the proposed amendments didn't seem momentous: they called for presidential term limits and the reduction of barriers to entry for political parties.

But Mr. Saada and many leaders of the reform movement, including Nobel laureate Mohammed ElBaradei, felt that if the amendments passed, they would be a big impediment to the movement's larger goal: a complete overhaul of the constitution to whittle down the near-absolute power of the presidency. They told voters that passing the amendments would put Egypt on a faster track to the elections, favoring Islamists and elements of the former regime, who already are well organized. And whoever wins the next election, they argued, would have the power to draft a new constitution full of democratic half measures—in essence, a counterrevolution.

The military implicitly endorsed the amendments by sponsoring the referendum. And Islamist groups, led by the Muslim Brotherhood, threw their sprawling organizations behind them.

Mohamed Morsi of the Muslim Brotherhood Getty Images

Posters bearing the Brotherhood's name appeared around Cairo telling voters that a "yes" vote was a "religious obligation"—even though none of the amendments made any reference to religion. The Brotherhood said it wasn't responsible for the posters, but that voting "yes" was a vote for stability. Salafis, who practice an ultraconservative form of Islam, were told by their leaders that voting "yes" was a vote for furthering Islamic values. Egypt's existing constitution states that its legal framework should flow from Islamic law—and Salafi leaders want to keep it that way.

"We didn't expect the Muslim Brotherhood and the Salafis to use religious debate in this referendum," said Hafez Abu Saada, the head of the Egyptian Organization for Human Rights.

The religious tone caught the mostly secular and liberal protest leaders by surprise. So did the result: 77% of voters endorsed the amendments,

The anti-amendment camp complains that it wasn't given enough time to convince the Egyptian public of the merits of an entirely new constitution. The referendum, they note, came only 17 days after a military-appointed committee of jurists announced the proposed amendments. For that reason, Mr. Saada and other secular-minded activists contend that the result doesn't reflect Egyptians' appetite for democracy.

The vote left them worried that the military and the Muslim Brotherhood are cooperating behind the scenes and have marginalized much of the young leadership from the early days of the protests.

The Muslim Brothers "are not respecting the opposition," says Mr. Saada. "They deal with them the same way the ruling party used to deal with them. They seem like the ruling party now."

Brotherhood leaders say the vote reflects Egypt's religious and social conservatism, as well as fatigue with the economic turmoil the youth revolution has brought. They say they are as committed to democratic change as anyone, perhaps just slower and more in line with a religiously conservative population. The vote represented "one step in a path that is 1,000 steps long," said Mohamed Morsi, a spokesman for the group.

Mr. Saada says reformers face an uphill battle in building political organizations capable of promoting their views and winning positions of power. Parliamentary elections, now scheduled for September, and a new presidential election by year's end aren't likely to provide enough time to organize, he says. "We need at least two or three years to rebuild the political sphere."


Sectarian Divide

Bahrain's antigovernment uprising began on Feb. 14, with protesters calling for democratic reforms and access to jobs. Bahrain's ruling Al Khalifa family is Sunni Muslim, and the protesters are overwhelmingly from the kingdom's Shiite majority. Nevertheless, there were plenty of Sunnis who participated in the demonstrations.

Bahraini politician Munirah Fakhro, a Sunni Associated Press

Tens of thousands of demonstrators occupied the Pearl Roundabout, a square in the center of the capital city, Manama. Munirah Fakhro, a Sunni politician from the moderate secularist Wa'ad party who had long campaigned for reforms, saw the demonstrations as the greatest opportunity in a decade to realize change for all Bahrainis.

At first, protesters demanded reforms to the existing political system, and Crown Prince Salman bin Hamad bin Isa Al Khalifa called for a dialogue with the opposition. But when some protesters began calling for the ouster of the ruling family, Ms. Fakhro says, she began worrying that their demands had gone beyond what the ruling Sunni minority would accept.

"I kept going to Pearl Roundabout and talking to young people," she said. "I warned people: 'This is your last chance. The crown prince is standing alone. He is asking you to come and negotiate.' "

On March 15, the showdown took an ominous turn, with the government calling in troops from neighboring Saudi Arabia and declaring a state of emergency. Security forces forcibly cleared demonstrators and launched a brutal crackdown. Sectarian tensions flared.

At Salmaniya Hospital, the country's largest medical facility, the Shiites and Sunnis on staff had never payed much attention to religious differences. Doctors who work there say it was a secular workplace.

Dr. Hala Abdul-Wahab, a 34-year-old Sunni who has worked at the hospital for eight years, recalls that when clashes reached the hospital gates and the number of wounded protesters escalated, "we were just doing our best to deal with whatever was at hand. No one at the hospital knew what was about to happen, the gravity of it."

Protesters in February at a famous monument at Bahrain's Pearl Roundabout, which has since been torn down by the government Agence France-Presse/Getty Images

But as wounded protesters streamed in day after day, the workplace rapidly became politicized. Some medical staffers began demonstrations inside the hospital wards, echoing the rhetoric on the streets. "We're marching because of the terrible reaction of the government. A lot of children were injured at the roundabout, suffocating because of the tear gas. It's not acceptable," said Hassan Mohammed, a doctor in the emergency room.

Sectarian tensions began to divide the staff. Senior doctors were calling for the resignation of government ministers. Some Sunni doctors objected to the role the hospital was playing in the Shiite-led protest. Sunni and Shiite staffers began discussing events in segregated groups.

"For us it was very disturbing," says Dr. Abdul-Wahab. "There were tents and press conferences, pictures of the injured, slogans on the walls." Sunni doctors who didn't support the protests, she said, faced mounting pressure. Shiite doctors, she said, bullied staffers to sign petitions calling for the resignation of the Sunni health minister. "They said our names would be included on a shame list and on Facebook—and that was an open threat," she says.

Shiite staff members say some Sunnis refused to treat wounded demonstrators. Sunnis counter that some Shiite staffers refused to treat Sunnis.

On March 15, the hospital was stormed by police. At least five Shiite doctors are under arrest or missing, human-rights groups say. Some have fled the country. Masked gunmen from the military and government-security forces remained in the hospital wards for weeks. Shiite doctors have decried the government presence at the hospital, as well as the overall crackdown on demonstrators. Some Sunni medics have praised them.

The drama at Salmaniyah has ushered in a much darker chapter for Bahrain, and perhaps for the region as a whole. Communities that have lived in relative harmony have turned against each other along sectarian lines.

Many protest leaders have gone into hiding, and more than 800 are being held without charges, human-rights groups say. Thousands of protestors have been fired by state-owned companies for missing work, opposition groups say. The Pearl Roundabout is being dismantled and will be reopened as a simple intersection with traffic lights, the government says.

Mohammed Al-Maskati, a 24-year old Shiite who heads the Bahrain Youth Society for Human Rights, says opposition morale has been crushed. "When we were on Pearl Roundabout, we were optimistic about the future," he says. "We brought our families because we thought we would be safe and see real change. But now people in the Shiite villages are in danger because the government has created a sectarian situation."

Evidence of extremism is growing, says Ms. Fakhro, the Sunni politician. Her home was attacked by assailants who threw Molotov cocktails through a window. "This is not Bahrain," she says. "This is something new we are witnessing."


Coping With a Crackdown

In January, only a few dozen students were assembled in front of Sana'a University calling for the end of President Al Abdullah Saleh's 32-year rule. Now, the area is known as Change Square and is home to a sprawling tent city of thousands of students, Islamists, tribesmen, opposition party members and defecting members of the armed forces.


The result has been a cacophony of opposition voices, many with their own ideas about the terms under which President Saleh should leave, the shape of a transitional authority and the pace of democratic change. Established political parties have fought to dominate negotiations with the government, which currently are at a stalemate over terms of Mr. Saleh's departure.

Mr. al-Surabi, the student leader, helped organize the street protests after years of dialogue between the president and opposition parties failed to result in any political reforms.

"In the beginning, we thought we would be able to follow the same path as Tunisia and Egypt," he says. "But we've come across many things we did not expect."

From the start, protesters in Yemen faced logistical and organizational challenges that their counterparts in other nations didn't: The nation's powerful tribal groups are far-flung and independent, the political opposition is fractured, and the nation's technological infrastructure is lacking.

Yemen's opposition has struggled to win more than token support from Western countries. Yemen is home to a well-organized and entrenched branch of al Qaeda, which has made allies such as the U.S. and Saudi Arabia wary of abandoning President Saleh and some of his relatives, who head the counter- terrorism forces. The Obama administration has thrown its support behind negotiations with opposition groups, talks guided by Saudi Arabia.

Yemeni protesters gather at a field hospital to check on friends and relatives during clashes with security forces in San'a. Associated Press

On March 18, the standoff turned violent. Government supporters on rooftops opened fire on thousands of demonstrators after Friday prayers, killing at least 50. Maj. Gen. Ali Mohsen al-Ahmar defected to the opposition, deploying armored cars to face off against units loyal to the president, creating a standoff in San'a, the capital.

The sudden support from the military, says Mr. al-Surabi, was a point of contention among protesters. Prior to his defection, Gen. Ahmar had been labeled a war criminal on opposition flyers distributed at protests.

Mr. al-Surabi contends the voices of the students who started the uprising are being drowned out. "Right now, I'm worried that we're losing control to…the opposition parties, and I'm not convinced that's the best way forward," he says.

Large pro-government demonstrations in recent weeks may have stiffened Mr. Saleh's resolve. The president has said that any attempt to unseat him would result in civil war. An aide to Gen. Ahmar says that his forces are intent on avoiding war. "We don't want to be Libya," he says. "We don't want violence."

On April 4, violence flared anew with police killing at least 11 protesters in Taiz. Instability spread to other southern regions where al Qaeda is strong. More than 100 have been killed. International support for Mr. Saleh eroded, and pressure grew from Arab neighbors for him to transfer power.

Despite the uncertainty and tension, Mr. al-Surabi and his colleagues say the revolutionary movement has already won a small victory by uniting Yemenis in a way he would never have imagined.

"Before all this started I was an engineering student," he says. "I used to think about where I wanted to move to after I graduated. I wanted to live in a free country where I could express myself. Now I'm going to help build a free county here."


Going to War

Nothing has been easy for the revolutionaries in Libya. Ayman Abu Shahma knows that as well as anyone.

Dr. Abu Shahma, 42, lives in Misrata, a rebel-held coastal city that has been under siege by Libyan armed forces for two months. When the protests began in Tunisia and Egypt, he was leading a quiet life with his wife and four children. He worked in the intensive-care unit at a hospital and he owned a medical-equipment import company.

"We were watching Tunisia and Egypt and feeling sorry for ourselves and wondering when our turn will come," he said in a recent interview.

When protests began in eastern Libya, Col. Moammar Gadhafi's regime countered on Feb. 17 with a bloody crackdown in Benghazi. Two days later, in many Libyan cities and towns, including Misrata, residents came out to demonstrate in solidarity.

Dr. Abu Shahma's cousin and best friend, Khalid Mustafa Abu Shahma, was the first protester shot dead in Misrata, he said. "He was my best buddy. We used to do everything together," he said, breaking into tears.

On the day of the funeral, he said, the regime sent representatives to try to appease the family, partly by offering money. Dr. Abu Shahma said his cousin's father responded that the family, which belongs to one of the city's most prominent and influential tribes, wanted nothing, that "it's Misrata that wants."

After two more days of fighting that left at least two dozen people dead, Misrata fell into the hands of rebels. Col. Gadhafi's forces pulled back and began shelling, laying siege to the city.

Dr. Abu Shahma and his colleagues fashioned a field hospital inside a clinic amid bombed-out buildings to treat wounded rebels and civilians and to receive the dead. They had to contend with dwindling medical supplies and power and water outages.

Rebels formed military and political councils to run the city's affairs and communicate with rebels and the Interim National Transitional Council in the east. On March 6, the regime launched an assault against Misrata involving thousands of soldiers, militiamen and African mercenaries, but the rebels held their ground, said Dr. Abu Shahma.

Since then, coalition air strikes against Col. Gadhafi's forces have offered some help, but street battles and shelling continue. Dr. Abu Shahma said this week that hundreds have been killed in Misrata so far. "We expected a bloody response, but not to this extent," he said.

Throughout the siege, Dr. Abu Shahma has been describing the situation in Misrata to reporters all over the world, asking that his name not be used. Recently, he told The Wall Street Journal that he wants to shed his anonymity. "I have nothing to lose," he said.

He said rebels had no choice but to fight. "If we stayed peaceful," he said, "they would have pillaged the city and slaughtered us one by one."


Unrealistic Expectations

Of all the Arab nations convulsed by unrest, Tunisia may stand the best chance to become a democracy. A transitional government is preparing for elections on July 24 to install a Constituent Assembly that would draft a new constitution and election laws. A free democratic election to chose a new legislature and executive could take place next year.

In Tunis, the capital, where economic opportunities have always been better than in the interior, there is guarded optimism.

Bessema Bouazizi holds a photo of her half-brother, Mohammed, who ignited the regional unrest by setting himself afire in Tunisia. Reuters

"We are already winners. We gained liberty of expression and liberty of the Internet, which allows us to protest—and that's important," says Slim Amamou, a 33-year-old blogger who was jailed during the revolution and is now secretary of state for youth and sport. "We could have much more, of course…We know we have years of work ahead."

In Tunisia, secularism is relatively entrenched and the main Islamist party, Ennahda, is considered one the region's most moderate Islamist groups. Ennahda has yet to publish a political program.

Yet in the country's interior, the mood is far less sunny. People there have discovered that the fall of former president Zine Al-Abidine Ben Ali hasn't improved their economic lot. Protests and strikes over working conditions and pay are still commonplace.

The revolution crippled Tunisia's economy, and it's only just starting to recover. In Redeyev, the local phosphate mine couldn't get its minerals to market for 24 days after the revolution, according to workers there. Jobless protesters demanding work had camped out on the railway lines. A textile factory built by a Ben Ali ally has been idle since January, its expensive new presses still wrapped in plastic. The owner fled and salaries haven't been paid, according to security guards at the building.

"This period is quite dangerous for the country, as people are impassioned and they want their rights right now," says Moncef Marzouki. He blogged about the revolution as a dissident in exile, then returned to form a political party—one of about 50, most of them new, registered to date.

"The south is much poorer, and I myself come from southern Tunisia," he says. "If we come to power, we will not forget these regions. But, in truth, it is difficult for us even in Tunis. Every day we have rallies against the government. The political problems are not solved anywhere."

One day recently, protesters in Sidi Bou Zid burned tires outside the governor's office, calling for his ouster on the grounds that he isn't doing anything to improve the town's economic plight. Members of the old ruling party, the Constitutional Democratic Rally, or RCD, still have their jobs in the governor's office and have to go, they said.

The protesters were gathering at the spot where Mohammed Bouazizi set himself afire on Dec. 17, sparking the revolution. According to his family, he had just been slapped by a local female official, who confiscated his weighing scales so he couldn't sell vegetables from his cart.

The townspeople are impatient for change, and some hold the governor responsible for not creating jobs immediately. Faisal Feleh Naji, who lost his 24-year-old brother during the uprising, complained that the latest governor, in office for a month, had failed to sign a single contract with investors to build new factories. "Nobody in Tunis listens to us," he said. "Every governor who comes here, we'll do the same."

Others worry that this kind of permanent revolution is dangerous. "This is chaos," said Wahid Dhahri, a 27-year-old unemployed teacher, a day after the tire-burning protest. He accused Tunisia's political parties of stirring up protests for their own ends. "The youth are going out today against troubles, triviality and political parties. We're going to resolve this now!" he said, leading his own crowd to the governor's office.

The governor has since resigned and was replaced by a local candidate, who is proving more popular.

"I understand why people in Sidi Bouzid are pessimistic, but it isn't easy to improve the situation as soon as they wish," says Mr. Marzouki, the one-time dissident. "Now, we don't have a strong government, and we can't expect to have one until elections, probably not for a year."

Ali Bouazizi, who was eventually tracked down by the police after secretly publicizing his cousin's death online, says it galls him that so little has changed in Sidi Bou Zid. "The machine is the same," he says. "How can they guarantee free and fair elections while [members of the former president's party] still run the regime and still control the funds?"

Says Mr. Marzouki: "What we got was the departure of the dictator, not the departure of the dictatorship. We are winning by points, not a knockout."

Write to Marc Champion at, Margaret Coker at, Sam Dagher at, Joe Parkinson at and Bill Spindle at