At the intersection of two main streets in downtown Cairo last week, during the usual rush hour congestion, two traffic police officers stood in what should have been a routine role aimed at ensuring the flow of vehicles.
One officer seemed to opt for passivity and indifference, content to fiddle with his wireless device, listening to his colleagues’ conversations without actively participating—a common habit among many police officers, and one that does not appear to violate their professional norms. Meanwhile, the other officer made a visible effort to control the flow of traffic at this perpetually crowded and critical junction.
As the traffic light turned red to halt cars on one street and allow others to pass, a young truck driver in what is commonly known as a ‘tumn’ (a small transport vehicle) defiantly decided to cross the marked line on the road. He stopped his truck just shy of the intersection, almost brushing against the traffic officer. A smug smile spread across his face as he stared provocatively at the officer.
The officer politely asked the young driver to move back behind the line, but the driver refused, exuding defiance and disdain. A brief verbal altercation ensued, during which the officer mostly remained silent, though his face betrayed a mix of intense anger and fear. It seemed this confrontation was not the first of its kind since the police had mustered the courage to return to the streets after the revolution. The psychological pressure appeared to push the officer to a breaking point. In a fit of hysteria, he shouted angrily: ‘Go ahead! Everyone go! Is this the freedom you wanted?’ He gestured wildly at cars in both directions, creating total chaos and bringing traffic to a complete standstill. Meanwhile, his colleague remained stationary, absorbed in listening to other officers’ wireless chatter.
This surreal scene reminded me of a lecture on budgetary priorities in state spending. During the lecture, economics professor Rodrigo Cida posed a question: ‘Which sector deserves priority funding, healthcare or security?’ We unanimously answered, ‘Healthcare, of course!’ The professor jokingly accused us of economic naivety. He explained with a hypothetical example of a country that chose to prioritise healthcare over security. The result was a rise in road accidents and the theft of ambulances, leaving patients unable to reach hospitals. Paradoxically, mortality rates increased, despite the intention to achieve the opposite.
Drawing a parallel between the traffic officer and the economics professor, we are confronted with an urgent need to address the serious crisis between a security apparatus that the revolution rose against and a triumphant, jubilant populace. Adding to this are various afflictions affecting many police officers, ranging from fear and passivity to vindictiveness and nostalgia for their lost dominance.
It is true that during Mubarak’s era, the police budget was absurdly inflated, built on a pathological obsession with control and fear mongering. Yet, it was not spent on improving the conditions of those working in this essential institution, nor on training them or educating them about laws and basic human rights. This neglect turned many low-paid officers into bribe-takers and power abusers.
Everyone must understand that delaying the resolution of this crisis—by failing to reform the police force financially, administratively, and psychologically—will lead to catastrophic consequences spanning security, economic, and social realms. The revolution has already triumphed over the police as an oppressive tool, but its goal was never to defeat security itself. Anyone who believes otherwise is sinking into a pit of ignorance and backwardness.
This article is originally published by AlBorsa in Arabic and later AI-translated by South Push.