Press freedom in Egypt: A decade of censorship
On a September morning in 2016, journalist Wael Ibrahim(*) was sitting at his desk, polishing a story on prison conditions he was about to submit when a message from the editor-in-chief popped up on his screen: kill the story.
When Wael pressed for an explanation, the response was as concise as it was telling. “We don’t want any headaches with the authorities”.
Wael worked for a private media outlet that had emerged in the wake of the January 25 Revolution. His newspaper had once been among the loudest voices critiquing the Muslim Brotherhood rule and late president Mohamed Morsi. However, things began to change in 2013 with the rise of the Tamarod/Rebel movement and the ouster of Morsi by the army amid massive protests.
By the time Abdel Fattah El-Sisi was elected president in June 2014, the landscape had transformed entirely. "The shift was gradual at first," Wael tells Al Manassa, "but by the time El-Sisi was in power, the margin for dissent had all but disappeared."
During his first year in office, even as many media outlets rallied behind his presidency, Sisi made his frustrations with the press clear. He criticized journalists for focusing too much on government shortcomings and not standing by the state as firmly as he expected.
It was during this period that he famously remarked, "The late leader Nasser was lucky. He was the only one speaking, and the media backed him."
A decade into his presidency, El-Sisi still criticizes the press, often blaming it for the country’s crises. But journalists and human rights activists who spoke to Al Manassa, see these accusations as detached from reality. With near-total government control through ownership, coercion, and censorship, how can the media be responsible for state failures when it has so little independence left?
The invisible hand
For Wael, who held a senior executive position at his newspaper, the constraints on press freedom were not spelled out explicitly but were understood by all. His editor-in-chief, for example, never named who dictated what could and could not be published. Instead, he referred to them simply as "they."
Between 2013 and 2014, the pressure was subtle—suggestions rather than directives. By late 2014, the dynamic had shifted. "It was a new phase," Wael explains. "Earlier, there was room for negotiation, but 2014 onwards, we were just given orders through WhatsApp groups."
On March 16, 2015, 11 newspapers—state-owned, private, and party-affiliated—published an identical front-page headline: Egypt Awakens. The phrase was a direct quote from El-Sisi’s closing remarks at an economic conference. That level of uniformity, Wael notes, had once been unthinkable.
This was not an isolated incident. In 2018, journalist Mohamed El-Sayed Saleh was dismissed as editor-in-chief of Al-Masry Al-Youm after the newspaper was fined 150,000 Egyptian pounds for its coverage of the presidential election.
The issue? The front-page headline read "The State Mobilizes Voters on the Last Day of Elections." It was the election that secured El-Sisi a second term in office, turn out on day one had been modest.
There was also the bizarre moment in 2019 when a news anchor on Extra News mistakenly read aloud a production note while reporting the death of former President Mohamed Morsi. She had finished the scripted denial of any medical neglect when she said, "Sent from a Samsung device."
The phrase, evidently a sign-off from a superior who had dictated the news by a WhatsApp message, made it to air unedited, offering an unintentional glimpse into how information was being controlled.
Self-censorship and silent orders
Five journalists from different media outlets spoke to Al Manassa—one from a public-owned newspaper, two from outlets affiliated with United Media Services/UMS (the state-managed media conglomerate), one from a partisan newspaper, and another who had left private journalism to freelance for Gulf-based publications.
Their accounts were very similar. They had all been instructed at some point either to avoid writing about certain topics "because they might cause problems" or to cover others "to prevent problems from arising."
"Even if there’s no official blacklist, we all know the rules," said one journalist. "You don’t criticize an official unless you’re told it’s okay."
Mahmoud Kamel, deputy head of the Journalists’ Syndicate and the head of the Freedoms Committee, divides the past decade into three distinct phases: before 2015, the period leading up to the 2016 raid on the syndicate’s headquarters and the years that followed, and the post-national dialogue era which began in May 2023.
Kamel argues that the first phase was relatively open—not because the government allowed it, but because the country was still reeling from two revolutions. "Back then, I could publish political analyses in state-owned Akhbar Al-Youm that would never be approved today," he says.
The period from 2016 until the calls for national dialogue was "the worst on all levels," Kamel believes, adding that "although the situation has improved somewhat following the national dialogue, it has not returned to what it was before 2016."
Journalist Ahmed Salah(*), who works at a public-owned newspaper, acknowledges that even government-aligned media once had some leeway. "There was a time when we could critique certain ministers," he says. "Maybe it was strategic, maybe it was an oversight—but that window has since closed."
"In general, I can't say there's such a thing as press freedom in public-owned institutions. These institutions are ultimately state-owned, regardless of the different entities they operate under, whether it was the Socialist Union under Nasser in the 1960s, the Shura Council until 2011, or the National Press Authority," he adds.
Worse than Nasser’s
Salah believes today’s media climate is more restrictive than the press nationalization under Gamal Abdel Nasser. Mohamed Abdel Salam, executive director of the Association for Freedom of Thought and Expression/AFTE, agrees saying the past decade has witnessed "an unprecedented consolidation of media ownership".
In May 1960, Nasser issued the Press Regulation Law, commonly known as the Press Nationalization Law, through which the ownership of Egypt’s major newspapers—including Al-Ahram, Al-Akhbar, Rose Al-Yusuf, and Al-Hilal—was transferred to the National Union, effectively placing the press under state control.
This move aimed to centralize the media and align it with the government’s socialist policies, but in practice, it severely restricted independent journalism. The press became a tool for disseminating state-approved narratives, with editorial policies dictated by the regime.
Over the following decades, Egypt saw the emergence of partisan newspapers in the 1970s and the rise of private newspapers later on. These developments allowed for some diversification, yet full press freedom remained elusive, as successive governments continued to exert influence over the media landscape.
"Unlike Nasser’s press nationalization, where state control was at least transparent, today’s landscape is dominated by UMS—a company linked to intelligence agency but presented as a private entity," Abdel Salam says.
Founded in May 2016, UMS describes itself as "one of the largest media entities in the entire Arab region." It owns more than 40 subsidiaries spanning print, digital, and broadcast media, advertising, and sports rights management.
Before January 2011 revolution, Egypt’s private media sector was largely controlled by business magnates who, while politically connected, maintained a degree of editorial independence. Most were later forced to sell their stakes rendering the media monopolized.
"This monopoly over media ownership stifled pluralism and eliminated editorial independence, allowing for blunt direct censorship. With one entity in control, it dictates editorial policies across the board, leaving little room for journalistic freedom or diverse perspectives," explains Abdel Salam.
Al Manassa reached out to Hossam Saleh, CEO of United Media Services, for a response to the allegations of the company's control and influence but he referred us to Mahmoud Mosallam, head of the Newspapers and Websites Sector at the company who did not respond to our calls and messages despite multiple attempts.
Meanwhile, a source close to UMS previously told Al Manassa that "the company does not seek monopoly over the media market in Egypt."
The high cost of defiance
For journalists like Hassan Eleiwa(*), the past decade has been a masterclass in self-censorship. "I cover a key public service ministry," he says. "I used to publish investigative stories freely. Now, I can’t even mention problems in that ministry without clearance. I was warned, ‘Stay in line, or we won’t be able to protect you.’"
Beyond censorship, arrests have become a constant threat. Abdel Salam notes that dozens of journalists have been detained over the years, some disappearing without a trace. "Every few months, there’s a new case—a journalist who’s been abducted, imprisoned, or tried on vague charges related to publishing"
Mahmoud Kamel estimates that 21 journalists remain behind bars, with one still missing since his arrest in March 2024. "We bring it up in every meeting with officials," he says. "Our demand is always the same: release them all."
Government-imposed blocks
Online censorship has become the third pillar of press repression. Access to hundreds of websites has been blocked, often without legal justification. "These blocking measures are ongoing, and we often hear officials dismiss them as routine," says Abdel Salam.
He warns that this trend is particularly alarming because it operates entirely outside legal frameworks, even repressive ones. "These are purely security-driven actions, with no legal basis whatsoever," he explains.
Hundreds of news and human rights websites in Egypt remain inaccessible due to government-imposed blocks, implemented without judicial oversight. The U.S. State Department’s annual report on human rights in Egypt has repeatedly condemned restrictions on press freedom, specifically highlighting the continued blocking of news outlets such as Mada Masr and Al Manassa since 2017.
Kamel says the Syndicate is consistently pushing for greater freedoms. "The lack of independent press is not just a media issue—it’s a matter of national security," he warns. "A free and independent media acts as a crucial safeguard against threats that can destabilize a nation."
He emphasizes that if journalism is reduced to a government mouthpiece, public trust erodes, and citizens come to see the media as state propaganda.
"The fundamental role of journalism has always been to scrutinize power, not to serve as its echo," he concludes.
Abdel Salam recalls that for years, officials have puzzled over why Egyptians tend to trust foreign and regional media outlets over their own. "The answer is simple," he says. "The state of journalism in Egypt today has destroyed public confidence."
(*) Names have been changed at sources' request.
A version of this article first appeared in Arabic on May 2, 2024.