The debate over privatisation and its merits has resurfaced once again. And, as expected, so has the criticism—directed at those who conceived it, introduced it, promoted it and defended it, all grouped together as one. But this is hardly a new discussion. Since the early 1990s, privatisation has been the favoured scapegoat for governments, taking the blame from both those who understand it and those who do not. Everyone, after all, has the right to pontificate as they please.
The government, like others before it, has always been on the defensive—perhaps until now. Economic discourse these days, despite the crisis, its consequences and Egypt’s supposedly dignified escape from it, has dominated conferences, both economic and otherwise, to the point of exhaustion. This fatigue may explain the government’s sudden shift in tone regarding privatisation—once an untouchable principle, seemingly sworn to the international institutions until the last government employee was made redundant.
Then, out of nowhere, Investment Minister Mahmoud Mohieldin announced his opposition to the nationalisation of failing private companies. This marked an unfamiliar shift in economic rhetoric, at least in the past two decades. But why introduce this term—long considered ‘obscene’ and rejected for decades—back into official discourse, even if only to dismiss it?
It seems the ongoing crisis has finally broken the reluctance to openly criticise the reckless practices of many private sector companies. Patience has also worn thin when it comes to the suffering of former employees of state-owned enterprises that were privatised—only to be cast onto the streets in protest, having lost everything.
Mohieldin’s remarks appear to be a response to parliamentary speaker Fathi Sorour, who declared that parliament would not stand idly by while workers pleaded for help. He insisted that the government must take urgent and decisive action, even suggesting that nationalisation could be an option ‘if necessary’. He further stated that parliament wanted to see the ‘teeth of wisdom’ in dealing with investors, adding that supporting privatisation did not mean allowing investors to run amok.
Sorour’s statement, in turn, came as a reaction to MP Hamdeen Sabahi, who had urged parliament to intervene by passing legislation that would empower the government to confront exploitative investors. Sabahi questioned whether Egypt had the right to nationalise a company sold to a Saudi investor, provoking a response from MPs: if it was possible, why had the government not done so? And if it was not, why had parliament not passed a law enabling it to act and protect workers’ rights?
Now, everyone is speaking. Everyone is calling for the ‘genie to return to its lamp’. But what happens in the tales of One Thousand and One Nights does not necessarily apply to reality. Not every genie can be forced back into captivity, and not every privatised company can return to the illusionary paradise of the public sector. Meanwhile, the government remains caught between its unwavering belief in privatisation as the ‘path to salvation’ and the painful legacy of poorly executed sell-offs—displacing Egyptian workers onto the pavements outside parliament, demanding answers.
This article is originally published by AlBorsa in Arabic and later AI-translated by South Push.