Registered, restricted, rejected: life under Egypt’s NGO Law

Three years ago, when we at the Association for Freedom of Thought and Expression (AFTE) began the process of registering under Egypt’s NGO Law, we did not expect the path to be smooth, despite the irony of President Abdel Fattah El-Sisi declaring 2022 the “Year of Civil Society.”

We submitted our registration application in December 2022. Eight months later, on July 27, 2023, the decision was finally issued.

Many friends considered this a relatively short wait compared to other organizations that faced far longer delays, or received no response at all. Others encountered direct administrative interference, including objections to proposed members of boards of directors or trustees.

At the time, I found myself asking a more troubling question: If securing registration after months of delay is considered an achievement, how long would it take to actually carry out the human rights work the organization was created to do?

I can tell you now: It could take years.

Today, two and a half years after registration, AFTE remains trapped in the bureaucratic corridors of the Ministry of Social Solidarity. The offices are rundown, employees are overwhelmed, and arbitrary procedures appear endless.

The obstacles extend beyond the ministry. Private banks delayed activating our bank account for 11 months—from June 2024 to May 2025. One bank employee explained the delay by citing the need for approval from “other authorities.”

Over the past six months, we submitted two formal requests to the Ministry of Social Solidarity seeking approval for grants from external funders to support work on freedom of expression, press freedom, and digital rights.

I personally reviewed the report issued by the Cairo Social Solidarity Directorate recommending approval of both grants, noting that they complied with AFTE’s bylaws and with NGO Law No. 149 of 2019.

Yet once the files were forwarded to the “relevant authorities”—a euphemism for security bodies that have effectively claimed veto power over all NGO funding—we received a half-page letter this month from the ministry informing us that both requests had been rejected. No explanation was provided.

This reality is not unique. A report issued by Amnesty International in late November, titled  “‘Whatever security says must be done’: Independent NGOs’ freedom of association restricted in Egypt,” documents part of this broad security interference in civil society work.

This is the grim reality in which NGOs operate. The administrative authority has no real power. What the Ministry of Social Solidarity, its directorates, and its offices see and recommend carries no weight against the security apparatus’ view.

Equally troubling is the absence of reasoned decisions. Grant rejections are issued without justification, eliminating any meaningful possibility of dialogue with the authorities or legal challenge before the courts.

As formal channels close, explanations circulate informally—through whispers, speculation, and secondhand accounts. Some speak of “higher instructions” to reject foreign funding for NGOs. Others point to a lack of political will from Social Solidarity Minister Maya Morsy to engage with organizations operating outside the National Alliance for Civil Development Work (NACDW), established following the declaration of the Year of Civil Society.

The NACDW operates under its own legal framework, granting it independence under the “care and patronage” of the president. In practice, it is subject to overarching control by certain national security agencies and in exchange, it is granted freedom of movement and work that is not available to NGOs operating outside the alliance.

While ministers regularly appear at NACDW-sponsored events, our repeated attempts—like other associations—to secure even a single official meeting with ministry officials to discuss delayed or rejected requests have failed.

It increasingly appears that the ministry has devoted its attention exclusively to supporting the alliance.

Under these difficult conditions, several points must be reaffirmed.

First, we will not relinquish our right to organize under the NGO Law, nor will we abandon our work on the ground in service of Egyptian people.

Organized human rights work is an important tool for representing citizens, defending their rights, and critiquing and scrutinizing public policies and legislation. This role is not optional; it is part of Egypt’s binding international obligations; obligations that do not disappear simply because global attention shifts elsewhere.

Second, we consider our experience registering under the NGO Law a practical model of the openness and transparency of Egyptian human rights organizations, and their genuine commitment to improving the human rights situation.

We will therefore spare no effort in exposing the arbitrariness and abuses we face. These practices hollow out official claims of partnership between the state and civil society.

The reality is that some actors do not want independent civil society to operate at all, let alone be treated as a partner.

Third, the so-called “security considerations” invoked to besiege independent NGOs do not reflect realities on the ground.

Human rights work in Egypt has evolved over decades in close connection to citizens’ daily struggles. Far from threatening stability, it contributes to safeguarding the rule of law.

In short, human rights organizations cannot be erased. They will endure and continue to seek space to operate—whether detractors accept it or not.