Egypt’s draft law to protect sexual assault victims doesn’t go far enough, systemic rape culture has to change

The beginning of July saw a social media campaign stir the still waters of a daily but too often unaddressed aspect of life for Egyptian women: long-standing impediments to justice for survivors of sexual crimes in Egypt.

It all started with allegations of sexual harassment, assault and rape against one man – including those against minors – being widely shared on social media until they snowballed into a collection of over 100 individual testimonies along with some evidence in the form of screenshots of threatening messages and voice notes. This encouraged many Egyptian women to break their silence and share their own unrelated personal stories, some dating back to their childhood and teenage years.

In a society where the burden of shame and blame has been largely placed on the survivor and what she was wearing, the stigma and fear have long silenced women, even from their own families. In fact, as late as 1999 a rapist could avoid prosecution by marrying his victim, allegedly to preserve her and her family’s honour because the scandal of having been raped would discourage men from marrying her. And despite reports of daily sexual harassment on the streets of Cairo, it was only in 2008 that a woman managed to defy the stigma and take a man who groped her on the street to court resulting in a landmark conviction for sexual harassment.

If I am honest with myself, I have to admit that I too have found myself internally questioning what a woman could have done to avoid her assault. My experience and learning curve as an advocate for women has helped me correct myself and lay the burden of the crime where it belongs: on the perpetrator.

I entered the field of women’s rights and gender-based violence by sheer accident on the day I decided to take action against the vicious mob sexual assaults in Cairo’s Tahrir Square in the wake of the 2011 revolution. Groups of young men had been taking advantage of the large gatherings in the square and the overall uncertainty and repeatedly grabbed, beat-up, stripped naked, and sexually assaulted women. Some of the assaults were so violent they left women hospitalised for days afterwards. The movement I founded in response to these assaults, Tahrir Bodyguard, comprised uniformed volunteers who intervened to stop these assaults and rescue the women. However, the survivors still faced suggestions that they themselves were responsible, typically being asked these three questions, in order: 1. What was she wearing? 2. Who was she with? 3. Why did she go there knowing the risk?

The social media campaign that we witnessed this July forced our society to reflect deeply on the cultural, legal and procedural framework for sexual crimes in Egypt. The sheer number of testimonies against that one young man struck a sensitive spot: he appeared to act with obvious impunity, seemingly unafraid of any legal consequences, not unlike many of the other sexual predators that have perpetuated Egypt’s sexual harassment problem. And the legal and law enforcement system took note, joining the National Council for Women in its calls for women to formally come forward to bring this young man to justice. The campaign has also gone a long way to ensuring that those who experience sexual assault are regarded now as survivors rather than victims, a shift of mindset which lays responsibility at the feet of the perpetrator.

The silence of the over 100 women he allegedly assaulted and the other women who shared their stories and their reluctance to come forward spoke volumes. Despite a legal amendment in 2014 that expanded the scope of previous laws and placed harsher penalties on sexual harassment and assault, something was clearly preventing women from seeking justice. The Public Prosecutor’s statement in the wake of this social media campaign provided clues. Women were assured anonymity, a safe space where only their lawyer and a judge would be present, and were furthermore assured that the burden of collecting evidence would lay with the prosecution and not with them.

The Egyptian government is clearly aware that despite the existence of laws, they are not fully implemented and women have not been giving the guarantees and safety needed to use these laws. The prime minister took note and issued an important and lauded draft law ensuring the anonymity of victims and witnesses in cases of sexual assault. Al Azhar, Egypt’s (and the world’s) foremost Islamic authority, launched a wide campaign emphasising that there is no relation between a woman’s attire and an assault, combating a widely held societal view.

In parallel with these positive steps forward in reframing sexual harassment and breaking the stigma of sexual assault a group of women have been swiftly prosecuted, convicted and sentenced to two years in jail for posting videos on TikTok that have been deemed a violation of the “Egyptian Family’s values”, for which no official manual seems to exist. Amending the law doesn’t go far enough, the systemic rape culture and blaming survivors in Egypt has to change.

What truly threatens family values is a culture of impunity for those who harass and rape women and perpetuate a cycle of sexual violence. The social media campaign to force society to shift views and the state to take action against one man has started a ball rolling but the real issue will be whether it ultimately results in lasting change. As an Egyptian woman, I am proud of every woman that has broken the barriers of fear and silence to come forward and pave the way for others to do so. That, at least, gives me hope.