The transformations that Egypt’s public sphere has undergone since the January 2011 revolution were not limited to shifts in political power balances, the nature of the conflict between the authorities and the opposition, or attempts by opposition forces to carve out space within a closed political equation. Rather, they manifested more profoundly in the legal structure itself, which was reshaped to manage and control the public sphere.
Whereas the state relied before the revolution on Emergency Law No. 162 of 1958 as a declared exceptional framework to restrict rights and freedoms under the pretext of “maintaining public order,” the subsequent years witnessed a notable shift toward integrating this exception into the body of ordinary legislation. This occurred primarily through the Anti-Terrorism Law, certain provisions of the Penal Code, and other newly enacted laws.
In this context, legal experts argue that security prosecutions are no longer carried out through administrative detention orders or exceptional courts in the traditional sense. Instead, they proceed through judicial paths that appear, in form, to comply with the law, but are grounded in vague legal texts, expansive interpretations, and precautionary measures that have effectively turned into punitive tools, foremost among them prolonged pretrial detention. This has resulted in a blurred overlap between what is classified as ordinary criminal offenses and what is, in essence, targeted as political activity or peaceful expression.
This report is based on a legal and analytical comparison between patterns of charges prior to the revolution under the state of emergency, and those later used against activists and political opponents under anti-terrorism laws, the Penal Code, and other newly introduced legislation. It seeks to dismantle the process through which the exception was legalized and transformed from a declared, temporary measure into a permanent practice framed and legitimized by legal texts.
Before and After the January Revolution
In a direct comparison of the nature of charges before and after January, journalist Hisham Fouad says that, prior to the revolution, accusations primarily revolved around “overthrowing the system of government” or “violating the Emergency Law,” which prohibited gatherings of more than five people and served as the main legal instrument at the time for controlling the public sphere.
Fouad adds, in his remarks to Zawia3, that after the summer of 2013 the dominant charges became “financing terrorist groups” or “joining them,” accusations that have been brought against the vast majority of political prisoners. This occurred within a context in which the ruling system derived its declared legitimacy from the banner of “combating terrorism,” alongside an expanded use of the charge of “spreading false news.”
Fouad argues that this pattern of accusations fundamentally targets limiting publishing on social media platforms, which have become the open space through which citizens express their conditions and problems. He notes that a significant proportion of cases, both before and after the revolution, are pursued without serious investigations or sufficient evidence, raising questions about their professionalism and credibility.
Fouad recalls an incident dating back to 2003, when the media headlined news of the arrest of what was described as a “new communist organization” seeking to overthrow the system of government. In reality, the case involved the detention of only five members of the Revolutionary Socialists organization. At the time, some writers mocked the case and dubbed it “the Organization of Five,” while the late lawyer Nabil El Hilaly criticized the farcical nature of the charges and the inadequacy of the investigations, sarcastically calling for learning the “art of fabricating charges” and exerting genuine effort in conducting investigations. The case ultimately ended with the acquittal of the defendants after a period of pretrial detention that did not exceed four months.
Fouad compares this to his own experience in 2019, when he and others were charged with financing a terrorist group and spreading false news, and he was sentenced to four years in prison. He explains: “I spent three and a half years without any real evidence of guilt being presented, and then I was released under a presidential pardon.”
The Declared Exception
Before January 2011, the Egyptian authorities relied on the Emergency Law as a central tool for controlling the public sphere, granting security agencies broad powers that included detention without regular trial and referring defendants to exceptional State Security courts. Despite the authorities’ use of force to disperse protests and arrest opponents, human rights advocates argue that what took place at the time cannot be compared to the situation the country is witnessing today.
In this context, Malek Adly, Director of the Egyptian Center for Economic and Social Rights, says that the comparison between the pre-2011 period and what followed should not be limited to differences in legal tools alone. Rather, it must be understood within the framework of fundamentally different legal systems that were used to regulate the public sphere.
Adly explains that before the revolution, the Egyptian judiciary went through two pivotal moments that became key references in dealing with popular protests. The first was the ruling on the events of January 18–19, 1977, which acquitted around 176 defendants and considered the uprising a natural response to economic decisions, distinguishing it from the regime’s characterization at the time. The second was the ruling in the 1986 railway workers’ strike case, which affirmed workers’ right to protest deteriorating living conditions.
Adly argues that these two rulings laid the foundation for a judicial legacy that recognized the legitimacy of protest and obliged the state to integrate international covenants on civil and political rights into its legal framework.
The Director of the Egyptian Center for Economic and Social Rights says that the first ruling established what he describes as a “stockpile” within Egyptian judicial heritage regarding popular protests, and the proper legal approach to handling charges of vandalism, destruction, and similar offenses. The second ruling, meanwhile, compelled the Egyptian state to adopt the International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights and the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights as part of its legislative system.
Adly notes that these two tracks were the most influential in shaping the framework governing the public sphere before the revolution. At the time, the main charges brought against activists, politicians, and protesters revolved around vandalism and destruction, alongside accusations related to strikes and the disruption of vital facilities.
Despite the oddity of some pre-revolution charges, such as “public shouting against the regime,” Adly emphasizes that the punitive system at the time “respected the public sphere,” allowed room for political activity, and was not aimed at shutting it down entirely. He points out that pretrial detention before the revolution was limited in duration, and that the State Security Prosecution was not concerned with all political cases, but rather focused specifically on cases of armed terrorism.
He adds that the practical application of judicial investigations in political cases before the revolution differed radically from what exists today. The longest periods of pretrial detention at the time did not exceed weeks or a few months, and cases did not reach the prolonged stages that have become common in the years following the revolution.
Regarding the referral of politicians and human rights defenders to State Security prosecution bodies, Adly explains that the jurisdiction of the Supreme State Security Prosecution before January 2011 was limited to cases related to terrorism, armed Islamist and jihadist organizations, and major incidents, and did not extend to encompass political and expressive cases in general.
A Harsh and Interlocking System
Adly describes the legal framework that followed the revolution as “extremely harsh,” pointing to fundamental transformations in laws governing protests, media, civil society, and elections, in addition to the Anti-Terrorism Law, which has effectively become a tool for regulating the public sphere, not merely for confronting armed violence. He stresses that the change was not limited to legislation alone, but also extended to long-established judicial principles, with a retreat in the role of the Court of Cassation in curbing expansive interpretations of legal texts, rendering the legal consequences of actions unpredictable in advance.
Adly argues that such a transformation may be understandable for a limited period in the context of protecting public security, confronting terrorism, dealing with gatherings of supporters of the Muslim Brotherhood and armed groups, and the state of emergency that prevailed in the streets at the time. However, he says, it becomes difficult to justify when it continues for more than fifteen years without review. He points as well to changes affecting press and publication laws, alongside the establishment of the Supreme Council for Media Regulation and the National Press Authority, which reshaped the legal framework governing the media and the public sphere.
The human rights lawyer also refers to changes introduced to election laws, civil society legislation, and the exercise of political rights. He explains that the Anti-Terrorism Law itself, when its provisions are used against those attempting to participate in public life, effectively becomes one of the laws regulating the public sphere, rather than merely an exceptional law to confront armed violence.
He further notes the emergence of laws that did not previously exist, such as the Terrorist Entities Law and the Law on Combating Information Technology Crimes. Before these, the legal use of social media was confined to a limited scope, such as defamation cases or the spread of specific rumors, like the case involving rumors about the president’s health. Today, however, the charge of “spreading false news” has become one of the most common accusations.
Adly explains that despite earlier criticism of Penal Code provisions related to publication as vague and elastic and aimed at constraining the public sphere, those provisions were, in his view, understandable within a unified legislative system with a single coherent logic. Today, by contrast, the public sphere is governed by multiple overlapping laws, foremost among them the Law on Combating Information Technology Crimes, the Telecommunications Law after its amendments, the Civil Society Law, in addition to numerous amendments introduced to the Penal Code, the Code of Criminal Procedure, and the Protest Law.
He adds that the changes were not confined to legislation, but also affected judicial principles that had long been settled in Egypt’s higher courts. Judicial precedents, he notes, once served as an important reference for interpreting ambiguous texts or limiting courts’ expansive use of certain provisions, a role traditionally played by the Court of Cassation. After 2011, however, the court retreated from positions it had previously established, giving way to an entirely different regulatory approach.
Adly believes that this shift may be understandable in light of legislative inflation, but is unjustifiable given its negative impact on the public sphere, where the legal consequences of actions have become impossible to anticipate. He illustrates this by noting that before 2011, a statement such as “I hate the regime” was legally understood within a defined framework with foreseeable consequences. Today, however, it has become akin to an “open bracket that never closes,” on the basis of which multiple charges can be brought simultaneously.
Adly concludes that law enforcement authorities have become an active part of the legal system applying these texts, resulting in a legislative framework that no longer allows space for judicial discretion capable of contributing to balance and justice.
Following the January revolution, human rights organizations called for an end to the state of emergency that had persisted throughout the rule of former president Hosni Mubarak. Human Rights Watch said in a statement that Egypt’s transition to a democratic system respecting the rule of law and human rights would be at risk unless the transitional military government implemented a set of immediate reforms in this area. Subsequently, the extension of the state of emergency was definitively lifted on October 25, 2021, by a presidential decision.
Punitive Codification
After the revolution, security prosecutions did not cease, but rather shifted to new legal instruments, beginning with the Protest Law, followed by the Anti-Terrorism Law, and extending to media and technology laws, culminating in the issuance of the Code of Criminal Procedure despite widespread criticism. This took place within an integrated legislative framework that grants prosecutions a legal cover, yet produces punitive effects comparable to, and in some cases harsher than, those imposed under the Emergency Law.
Legal experts and politicians argue that these new laws are now being used to pursue politicians and activists under a legal façade, while in practice exerting pressures similar to those once exercised under the Emergency Law. This occurs through the expansion of criminalization and, more notably, through turning pretrial detention and judicial procedures into punitive tools, all within an outward appearance of legal legitimacy.
In addition, observers note that “prosecutions have not differed before and after the revolution as much as the pattern of prosecution itself has changed: from a declared and explicit exception based on emergency rule, to codified prosecution under ordinary laws designed to allow the expansion of criminalization and control over the public sphere.”
In this context, Ziad El-Elaimy, a human rights lawyer and former member of parliament, says that before the revolution the state “circumvented the law,” whereas after the revolution it moved to “codify unlawful practices and transform them into legal texts.”
El-Elaimy points to the erosion of fair trial guarantees, the expansion of pretrial detention, and the transformation of terrorism lists from a temporary precautionary measure into an extended punishment. He also highlights the contradiction between placing political opponents on these lists while simultaneously inviting them to participate in the national dialogue.
He adds that the “violations” faced by defendants are now carried out “in worse ways, but with an appearance of legality,” as he puts it. Under Mubarak, he explains, detention orders were issued for specific periods and could be challenged in court. Today, however, pretrial detention has no clear time limit, with thousands of defendants remaining under investigation for five or six years without a final trial.
El-Elaimy further notes the deterioration of fair trial guarantees, explaining that many lawyers are prevented from accessing case files or obtaining copies of them, something he personally experienced when he himself was a defendant in one case. He also recalls that in the case concerning his inclusion on terrorism lists, lawyers were asked to plead without being informed of the reasons for listing, on the grounds of “confidentiality,” prompting him to ask: “How can a lawyer defend a client without knowing the basis of the charge?”
Regarding terrorism lists, El-Elaimy points out that they have shifted from a temporary precautionary measure into an extended punishment, with some individuals remaining listed for more than ten years, despite the law assuming such measures to be temporary pending verification of facts. He adds that some listed individuals are prevented from working and from leading normal lives without any genuine judicial basis, including prominent human rights defenders such as Mohamed El-Baqer.
El-Elaimy criticizes the contradiction in the authorities’ practices, whereby individuals are placed on terrorism lists while being simultaneously invited to participate in national dialogue, asking: “Are they terrorists or not?”
As for the nature of the charges, he says that the accusation of “joining a terrorist group” has become a ready-made template applied to everyone, regardless of their affiliations or political positions, even in cases involving Christians or well-known opponents of the Muslim Brotherhood. This, he argues, has led to a loss of confidence in the justice system, warning that “the most dangerous threat to states is the loss of people’s trust in justice.”
In a striking comparison, El-Elaimy observes that military courts have come to be seen by many lawyers as “more lenient than terrorism felony circuits.” He explains that death sentences in military cases are relatively fewer and usually issued only when clear evidence exists, whereas terrorism circuits record higher rates of death penalty rulings. El-Elaimy concludes by stating that violations of the rights of defendants and lawyers are now carried out openly and codified by law, rather than covertly as they were in the past.
Packaged Charges
In recent years, the charges of “spreading false news” and “joining a group established in violation of the law or a terrorist organization” have emerged as the most common accusations used to prosecute politicians, activists, and opponents in Egypt.
According to legal experts and politicians, the nature of accusations has undergone a notable shift. It moved from a phase marked by implausibility or weak legal logic—whether in how charges were constructed or in their lack of serious evidence before the January revolution—to what they describe as “packaged charges” with standardized, repetitive formulas.
They argue that the wave of legislation enacted after January enabled a reengineering of accusatory discourse within more complex legal frameworks, granting it a formally disciplined appearance, even as the core problems related to evidence and fair trial guarantees persist.
In this context, politician and human rights advocate Mostafa Shawky says that in the period preceding January 2011, the Emergency Law constituted the governing legal framework, and cases were typically brought before the public prosecution and the natural judge. Military القضاء, he notes, had a very limited jurisdiction, confined to major cases linked to jihadist incidents or Muslim Brotherhood organizations, while the trial of civilians before military courts was extremely rare.
Shawky adds, in his remarks to Zawia3, that the period after 2013 witnessed a massive expansion in legal prosecution tools, as traditional legislative instruments were replaced by an arsenal of new laws. Foremost among these was the Emergency Law, which was reinstated in April 2017 and remained in force until October 2021.
During this period, the state of emergency was extended through successive presidential decrees every three months, following parliamentary approval, for more than four and a half years. This persisted despite the constitution stipulating that a state of emergency may be declared for three months, renewable only once with parliamentary consent—sparking broad legal debate over the constitutionality of repeated renewals.
Alongside emergency rule, this new legislative arsenal included the Protest Law, the Anti-Terrorism Law, the Terrorist Entities Law, the Law on Regulating and Combating Information Technology Crimes, and other statutes that contributed to narrowing the public sphere. This was compounded by constitutional amendments that expanded the jurisdiction of military courts to include the referral of civilians in multiple cases—constituting, according to Shawky, a fundamental shift in judicial practice and in the legal control of the public sphere.
Shawky notes that the use of pretrial detention as a punitive tool was less severe before January, as most defendants were released and detention was not used as a means of revenge or intimidation. In the limited cases where convictions were issued, sentences were generally short and often followed by presidential pardons, as occurred with journalists Ibrahim Eissa and Wael El-Ibrashy.
As for the nature of charges before the revolution, Shawky explains that they largely focused on acts of vandalism and assaults on public facilities and security personnel. They did not include the newer accusations that have since become central legal tools for pursuing politicians and activists, such as joining terrorist groups or spreading false news—charges he describes as “packaged” and ready for application within the new legal arsenal.
In July 2018, Human Rights Watch documented, in a fact sheet titled “Prosecutions of Activists and Journalists under Egypt’s Terrorism Law,” ten cases involving 36 defendants charged by the Supreme State Security Prosecution under Egypt’s Anti-Terrorism Law (Law No. 94 of 2015) or terrorism-related provisions of the Penal Code.
The organization noted that the list was not exhaustive, but included cases for which Human Rights Watch was able to obtain information. The charges across the ten cases were strikingly similar, including spreading false news, joining or financing a terrorist organization, or both, as well as joining a group established in violation of the law.
A comparison between the periods before and after January reveals that the transformation was not limited to the nature of charges alone, but extended to the very logic of administering justice. While repression was previously exercised through clearly exceptional tools such as the Emergency Law and military courts on a limited basis, it is now practiced through a legislative system that appears institutionally complete, yet is used to redefine political activity as a criminal offense.
The exception is no longer temporary; it has become a legal rule. Emergency measures are no longer extraordinary procedures, but rather a permanent practice cloaked in laws and legal texts under the banner of “regulating the public sphere.”
Under these conditions, the central question is no longer confined to the constitutionality of laws or the legality of procedures, but extends to the future of politics itself. The real stake lies in restoring the meaning of law as a tool for protecting rights rather than codifying their confiscation, and in reasserting justice as a prerequisite for stability, not an obstacle to it.
