With all the horrors that have unfolded in the Middle East since just last year, the Arab Spring — the pro-democracy uprising that began with protests in Tunisia and Egypt in 2010, leading to the dissolution of authoritarian regimes — can seem like a glimmer from a halcyon era. Yet as a new musical, “We Live in Cairo,” reminds us, that era was itself short-lived, and produced its own bloodshed and despair.

Featuring a book, music, and lyrics by the Lazours — brothers Daniel and Patrick, who are of Lebanese ancestry — “Cairo,” as its title suggests, focuses on the revolution as it rolled out in Egypt. We meet a group of young activists, one of whom has just returned from prison; she was sentenced to solitary confinement after posting negative comments about the president at the time, Hosni Mubarak, and about his son, who was reportedly being groomed to succeed his autocratic father.

The young woman, Fadwa, whose father and grandfather were also activists, and paid even heavier prices for their dissent, is joined by her wealthier cousin, Karim, a visual artist whose weapons of choice are cans of spray paint. Also helping are two brothers from a Coptic Christian family: Amir, a budding musician, and Hany, who writes lyrics for Amir’s songs while hoping to study law in New York. 

These comrades will welcome two outsiders, the first being Amir’s new girlfriend, Layla, an aspiring photographer whose father, a journalist, essentially works for the government. Played by a pert, siren-voiced Nadina Hassan, who is of Egyptian extraction herself — the actors in this production all share an Arab heritage — Layla loves her city and country and worries, at least initially, about protecting her future.

Then there’s Hassan, a fan of Karim’s street art whose family is connected with the Muslim Brotherhood, referred to here simply as the Brotherhood, as if to downplay the group’s Islamism. Hassan is received with some skepticism, particularly by Fadwa — “This is a liberal, secular space,” she tells him — but in Drew Elhamalawy’s sweetly graceful performance, he emerges as the most gentle and, in a sense, vulnerable character.

While Hassan insists he’s not part of the Brotherhood himself, he repeatedly speaks of how the organization has helped his family while enduring state oppression itself. More than any show or movie I’ve seen recently — to say nothing of demonstrations being carried out right now in this country — “Cairo” acknowledges how Arab and Muslim leaders have betrayed their own people (albeit with help from Western powers) and, in doing so, nurtured religious extremism. 

Religion inevitably becomes a source of conflict in the musical, in fact. Layla, who is Muslim, laments that her faith will make it impossible to have a future with Amir in her beloved country. When the Brotherhood’s leader, Mohamed Morsi, is elected president in 2012 — a position he’ll hold for only about a year, until he’s deposed by the military — the friends are torn over whether to denounce. Hassan, of course, is especially tormented, and not just by political choices: It’s implied that his affection for Karim, which quickly becomes mutual, transcends artistic or platonic admiration.

These developments, and even darker ones on a wider scale, make the musical’s second act decidedly less buoyant than its first. The Lazours’ score and the orchestrations Daniel has crafted with Michael Starobin deliver rock and folk-pop textures with Middle Eastern accents, and despite the fundamental earnestness of the songs, the rock tends to be harder and more exuberant leading up to the historic protests in and around Tahrir Square, which lasted 18 days in early 2011.

Those protests are recaptured in David Bengali’s stirring projection design, which also includes footage of real-life politicians and activists, embellished by headlines and hashtags, and by vivid, acerbic illustrations by Ganzeer, a real Egyptian street artist who rose to fame in the revolution’s wake. When Karim, played by an endearingly scruffy John El-Jor, gets out those spray cans and creates his forbidden art, big splashes of color appear, reinforcing his defiance.

Under Taibi Magar’s aggressively sincere direction, the performers all bring abundant energy to the archetypes they’re assigned. Rotana Tarabzouni exudes an earthy righteousness as Fadwa, identified in the script as an “organizer,” while Ali Louis Bourzgui’s Amir, wielding a guitar and an ingenuous smile, is the embodiment of a sensitive singer/songwriter. As Hany, the most cerebral of the bunch, Michael Khalid Karadsheh is by turns drily witty and starkly purposeful.

When, at one point, the characters take turns declaring why they are protesting, Hany says, “For free and fair elections. For term limits that are actually observed, a vote that actually counts, and for an end to religious discrimination.” Like the other young men and women represented here, he acts on his convictions, and each pays a considerable toll; if “We Live in Cairo” is hardly a masterpiece, it deserves credit for honoring the real people, dead and living, who showed similar courage.