El-Sisi, Alaa, and Laila: The media and the final act
There is a glaring absence from Egypt’s major newspapers and news sites.
No updates, no headlines, no news briefs about a rare event in the country’s modern history; a respected university professor, a woman from a prominent family, is facing a life-threatening situation.
Her health has deteriorated to a critical point after a prolonged hunger strike. Her demand? The release of her son, unjustly imprisoned in violation of Egyptian law, despite having already completed his sentence.
The government devised a new punitive measure just for this son, recalculating his sentence from the date the military ruler ratified the verdict in January 2022, instead of from the day he was placed in pretrial detention, as stipulated by law.
A lead story on a leading news site: Actress ... visits actress ... at her home to apologize, and the two make up.
A hunger strike unto death is exceedingly rare in our region. At least, I cannot recall another case like Laila Soueif’s—her body wasting away for the freedom of her son, Alaa Abdel Fattah.
We all understand how unusual such acts are. In journalism, we are taught that rarity is a hallmark of newsworthiness. In this case, that rarity is compounded by fame—another driver of news coverage. This story involves well-known figures, and has already received significant coverage across dozens of international outlets.
Celebrity can be a divisive force. Many among us are repelled by how fame can distort public discourse and the treatment of individuals. Ideally, fame alone shouldn’t confer special treatment. Yet, Egypt’s deeply compromised media environment mandates coverage of the famous.
In the case of Alaa’s imprisonment and Laila’s hunger strike, it is impossible to ignore the reach and prominence of the figures involved. Still, most of Egypt’s press has opted for silence.
Except for two or three independent and opposition websites—blocked and with journalists in prison—local media has collectively ignored the developments in this case. Not even a brief, neutral news item has surfaced. Instead, the press has chosen to disregard the existence of the triangle: the president, Alaa, and Laila.
This is a bizarre stance, given the rarity of death resulting from a hunger strike and the public recognition Alaa and his family have enjoyed since the 2011 uprising.
Their names once led headlines in newspapers and talk shows. Even before the revolution, the Soueif family was deeply embedded in Egypt’s intellectual and cultural life.
Laila’s sister is the acclaimed novelist Ahdaf Soueif, her mother was the renowned literary critic Fatma Moussa, and her late father, Dr. Mostafa Soueif, was the founding president of Egypt’s Academy of Arts.
Newspaper report: Murder suspect, son of a former minister, writes a self-help book in prison.
Egypt’s mainstream media exists in a completely different universe. It is detached from those of us on social media—Egyptians, Arabs, and Europeans—who have been following Laila’s case and have been calling for Alaa’s release for months. We’ve shouted, pleaded, and written, desperate to save his life and hers.
And still, silence. Not even a word to make readers of these newspapers and websites aware of what’s happening—or to show them that their journalists are in touch with reality, especially in a case with international implications.
The bitter irony began before Laila reached the point of no return, that perilous stage where only two outcomes remain: death or irreversible damage.
It’s an old joke now; Egyptian media eagerly cover the president’s phone calls with British officials but omit any mention of British government statements calling on President El-Sisi to release Alaa and resolve this tragic crisis.
But the joke has gone too far. Sooner or later, something will happen that the Egyptian press won’t be able to ignore; either a presidential pardon for Alaa Abdel Fattah or the death of Laila Soueif.
Banner headline: Former minister, Egypt’s renowned archaeological ‘star’, lashes out at his interviewer’s ignorance of the pyramids.
How will Egypt’s press, stripped of credibility and independence since 2013, handle either of these scenarios which could break at any moment and mark the final scene in this unfolding tragedy?
They can’t ignore neither the death of a renowned professor who starved herself for her political prisoner son, given the anger that will explode in Egypt and abroad, nor the humanitarian gesture of a presidential pardon for a political “adversary”; a move that will demand cheerleaders.
There will need to be orchestrated applause with Alaa boarding a plane into exile—even if we never see him.
How is it that suddenly readers will find the newspapers or websites covering a case they never previously covered? There will be no context, no timeline, no explanation of the struggle that made global headlines, from the early protests to the international attention during the COP27 climate summit in Sharm El-Sheikh, when many expected Alaa to receive a pardon.
The word “adversary” in quotation marks above is intentional. But editors won't use it because they won’t be able to justify it to their readers. And yet, we all know this: Alaa Abdel Fattah’s case has been in the hands of the presidency for years. His fate hasn’t been decided through legal channels or media pressure, nor by any security agency.
Editors won’t tell readers that the decision to omit this case from their coverage wasn’t theirs. Nor will the paper explain how a powerful and well established state treated a young political dissident as a personal enemy to the president.
And how could journalists explain the opaque, punitive legal system that no one understands? Who can say how far it will go, or who it will target next?
No outlet will admit its failure to report on the hunger strike, on the death facing a distinguished academic who taught thousands of students. Not because they missed the story, but because they received unofficial orders from the highest levels to remain silent.
Banner from another paper: Mediation efforts advance… a truce on the horizon.
When the moment comes—whether Laila dies, or Alaa is granted a pardon—there will be no need for excuses. We know how this has all been managed, even if we don’t know the details.
Still, the final act won’t be easy on them to stage. And we’ll all be watching. Because it will mark a turning point in the history of journalism, politics, and freedom in this country.
Why write this piece now? What’s the point? Al Manassa’s readers are well-informed. They’ve followed every update on the cases of Laila and Alaa. They’ve read countless reports and watched video interviews. So what’s new?
Nothing.
These are merely few words that might reach someone in the future—someone who didn’t live our times. These are words for them to know about a mother who chose to walk towards death on her own will. Not only for her son’s life and freedom. Not only for the rights of all political prisoners and prisoners of conscience, but for the dignity and liberty of an entire society and country, and how the media ignored them and us.
Laila Soueif, a woman who chose the gamble of death, forced an all-powerful state to confront her demand. Her son’s right to live and to be free. So that, in this bleak era, we might still say that there are those who defend justice, truth, and human dignity, even at the cost of their lives.
Published opinions reflect the views of its authors, not necessarily those of Al Manassa.