The story is well-known and oft-repeated—whether through someone we know or through films and television series. A person falls into the abyss of drug addiction for various reasons and from different backgrounds, with no distinction between rich and poor. Each has their own motives, but the fall is the same.
Yet, in our society—where families strive to remain as cohesive as possible—it is always the family that pays the price, not only emotionally but financially as well. Families continue to embrace the addict, always seeking to pull them out of this dark pit, no matter the cost.
However, some have turned this familial instinct into a profitable enterprise under the guise of addiction treatment. Hospitals, clinics and rehabilitation centres—large and small—have proliferated in response to the rising number of young addicts in society. Some genuinely try to fulfil their role, but others are solely concerned with profit, operating in an environment that lacks the necessary regulations to govern such a sensitive and unconventional field.
With a severe shortage of government-run medical services for this large group of ‘patients’—as there are only a handful of public hospitals available—private clinics and rehabilitation centres have rapidly expanded to meet the demand. While some may be driven by humanitarian motives, there is no doubt that this is a highly lucrative business, with an ever-growing need that families cannot afford to ignore.
It is worth noting that even in capitalist countries with open markets for services—including healthcare—such as the UK, addiction treatment remains under government control due to its sensitivity and critical role in society.
Meanwhile, in Egypt, under the so-called ‘health liberalisation’ policy, where the state has withdrawn from many of its responsibilities in the healthcare sector, addiction treatment has become a field dominated by psychiatrists, therapists and even former addicts who have entered the business.
Many of these treatment programmes focus solely on what is known as the detoxification or withdrawal phase. While important, this is merely a small part of the long psychological recovery process, which many programmes neglect. As a result, addicts often see rehabilitation as a temporary break from drugs, only to relapse as soon as they return to their social circles. Medically, these individuals are classified as ‘recovering addicts’ rather than fully treated patients, as addiction is a complex condition requiring long-term treatment with strict protocols—most of which are absent from these centres.
Moreover, the cost of drug use remains relatively lower than the cost of treatment. This economic reality forces families to turn to these private rehabilitation centres, driven both by financial constraints and a sense of familial responsibility. For those who run these centres, this is a fortunate situation, as the same patients return repeatedly. Not all, of course, but many are simply exploiting the system for profit. Some even go as far as using the names of licensed doctors to open treatment centres, despite having no specialists on staff—turning addiction treatment into a thriving business in a society teetering on the edge of a drug crisis.
The state must draw a clear line between its role in fostering service sectors as sources of tax revenue and its primary duty to safeguard society from unethical practices. This is especially true for a profession that should be based on humanitarian principles rather than profit-driven motives.
But the real question remains: following the approval of the new Mental Health Law by the People’s Assembly, will it be enforced and monitored, even to a minimal extent? Or will it share the fate of countless other laws that gather dust on the shelves of medical syndicates, never seeing the light of implementation?
This article is originally published by AlBorsa in Arabic and later AI-translated by South Push.