With a gentle smile, she said: ‘Do you need anything, Dad? I’m heading home.’
The father replied: ‘No, my dear. May God keep you safe.’
She gave her father a light hug and left.
This was not a dramatic scene from one of Egypt’s tedious TV series, but an actual moment that unfolded on the American University in Cairo (AUC) campus years ago. The young woman, a strikingly bright philosophy student, was well-known for her academic and extracurricular achievements. Her father, however, was not affiliated with the university in any academic or administrative capacity. He was a nearly 60-year-old janitor, sweeping the path between the basketball and tennis courts. This real-life scene might make one fall in love with the university.
Such was the past when the AUC strove to embody respect for humanity and workers’ rights. It was a model to emulate, with workers entitled to salaries sufficient to support their families, a union that safeguarded their rights, and decent healthcare not just for them but also for their families. Most astonishingly—at least to Egyptians—workers’ children were entitled to free education at one of the Middle East’s most prestigious and expensive universities. A degree that cost others nearly half a million Egyptian pounds was granted to their children at no charge.
The janitor and his daughter were among the fortunate few. It seems he was part of the older generation of workers with secure contracts, untouched by the hands of those with ‘combo ethics’ and a McDonald’s philosophy. The present image stands in stark contrast to this, a contradiction to all the ideals of human respect taught within the university’s lecture halls.
This stark disparity triggered a protest by more than 3,000 students who went on strike, staging a sit-in at the New Cairo campus in solidarity with hundreds of newly hired janitors demanding dignity and basic rights. The university had promised to raise their salaries upon hiring them, but the promise went unfulfilled. Their wages ranged from 450 to 600 Egyptian pounds—barely enough for married workers with families to support. The campus’s remote location added to their plight, with no public transport and undrinkable water. Frequent power cuts during the scorching heat and unaffordable food options exacerbated the situation. A single meal from Tabasco could cost over 50 pounds. Workers were given only one day off per week—sometimes none—and were denied access to the university’s medical centres, even though these services would have cost little.
The workers protested, and the students joined them in a dramatic stand against injustice, particularly given the university’s wealth. Panic struck the administration, especially when professors sided with their students in the rebellion, forcing the university into negotiations. What followed was a spectacle of Egyptian-style bargaining, reminiscent of labour ministry mediations—or more aptly, haggling in al-Ataba’s markets.
The administration ended the strike by offering crumbs: a 200-pound increase in salaries as a substitute for meals, one Saturday off per month, and a vague promise to address other demands later. The sit-in ended, and the workers returned home, unsure of what had just transpired. They mulled over the administration’s token gestures—should they rejoice at this meagre improvement or continue risking their livelihoods by pressing for full rights?
Such a scenario might seem ‘acceptable’ or familiar within other Egyptian organisations plagued by a chronic disregard for workers’ rights, sometimes due to genuine financial constraints in an ailing economy. But this was the American University in Cairo—a place far removed from such excuses. It is neither impoverished nor ignorant of the rights it teaches and once upheld.
It seems the ancient Nile, with its polluted waters, has seeped into all our veins. The poor Americans must have drunk from it too, falling victim to the same affliction. May God heal us all and forgive our friends, who, perhaps unwittingly, drank from waters never meant for them.
This article is originally published by AlBorsa in Arabic and later AI-translated by South Push.