Today, the question in Egypt is not whether the media needs to be reformed, but rather if the government has the will to allow it to flourish. For President Abdel Fattah El Sisi, the stakes are nothing less than history itself. At a recent meeting on Egypt's media landscape, President Sisi outlined directives that set out a roadmap for transformation. He urged the adoption of a comprehensive strategy with a focus on wider access to information, investment in young journalists, and the institutionalisation of pluralism under the principle of "opinion and counter-opinion." Taken seriously, these measures could reshape the relationship between state, press, and society. But between presidential vision and entrenched practice lies a vast gap. And the central question remains: Will these directives translate into genuine reform, or will they be absorbed into the machinery of control, producing cosmetic change without altering the fundamentals? The Mirage of Reform Without Freedom A roadmap without a destination is just a detour. If reform means new studios, larger platforms, or flashy apps, Egypt will simply polish the surface of a system still hollow at its core. Real reform cannot be reduced to technology. The real force behind media credibility is independence—the ability to question, expose, and investigate. Without it, change only amounts to a makeover in public relations. In democracies, media builds awareness not through sloganeering, but through debate, investigation, and accountability. In Egypt, "building awareness" has too often meant mobilisation: a top-down lecture heavy with directives, barren of dialogue. The result is predictable. Citizens turn away. A one-voice narrative collapses the moment it collides with lived reality. The Battle Over Information One of Sisi's most striking directives is the call to ease journalists' access to accurate information, particularly in moments of crisis. The principle is revolutionary. The practice, however, collides with a culture of secrecy. In Egypt, even routine data—on health, economics, or governance—is too often treated as a matter of national security. The vacuum created by silence is filled by rumour and conspiracy. Transparency would not weaken the state—it would strengthen it. A government that shares facts, even uncomfortable ones, builds resilience and trust. Citizens are less likely to panic when they believe what they are told. But the shift from control to openness requires a direct confrontation with bureaucratic reflexes. Without that, the promise of transparency remains a hollow slogan. The Youth Question Sisi also emphasised supporting young journalists. The need is undeniable: Egypt's media suffers not only from aging faces, but from outdated methods and tone. Yet the risk is clear. Without genuine independence, "support" risks becoming a ritual of workshops and courses producing polished recruits to recite the same tired scripts. Youth do not need cosmetic training. They need space—an environment where they can take risks, report honestly, and craft narratives that resonate with their generation. With freedom, they can inject vitality into a suffocating industry. Without it, they become little more than a fresher mask on the same worn face. The Illusion of "Opposing Voices" Perhaps the most delicate directive is the call to enshrine the principle of "opinion and counter-opinion." In theory, it is the lifeblood of journalism. In practice, in Egypt, it risks being staged: carefully curated dissent, designed for optics, never straying beyond safe boundaries. True pluralism means allowing genuine criticism—not the ornamental kind, but the type that challenges state policy at its roots. Anything less is choreography, not democracy. And in the digital age, where citizens can bypass domestic outlets entirely, staged opposition is not only ineffective—it is insulting. Reform or Facade? Taken together, the president's five directives represent an ambitious vision. But they point to a crossroads. Down one path lies gradual liberalisation: easing control, embracing transparency, and allowing criticism to function as a stabiliser rather than a threat. Down the other lies more of the same—technological upgrades masking political inertia, new packaging for old narratives. The stakes are profound. An independent press is not a danger to stability. It is its guarantor. States that fear their own journalists eventually fear their own people. Egypt must decide whether it wants a press that acts as a watchdog, or one that survives as a mouthpiece. The Leader as Hero The media debate is not only about institutions. It is about the image of the leader himself. International experience shows that leaders who allow genuine media freedom do not diminish their stature—they amplify it. Controlled media can paint a leader as heroic. But the portrait is fragile, collapsing the moment citizens see the gap between glossy headlines and their daily hardships. Trust evaporates, and the leader becomes less a figure of respect than a narrator of an imposed story. By contrast, a leader who embraces freedom projects confidence. When citizens see that their media can praise successes and criticise failures in equal measure, they conclude that what they hear is real. And when the leader himself tolerates scrutiny, he is no longer a figure propped up by propaganda, but one who commands loyalty by virtue of authenticity. For President Sisi, the choice is clear. He choose to be a president who trusted his people with the truth, and in doing so, secured a legacy greater than any campaign could fabricate. Looking Ten Years Ahead The consequences of today's choices will echo over the next decade. If Egypt commits to media freedom, the results could be transformative. Within ten years, the country could witness a pluralistic media environment: journalists investigating corruption before it spreads, newspapers flagging social grievances before they ignite into crisis, broadcasters serving as an early-warning system for government. In such a climate, political legitimacy would renew itself daily, anchored in trust between state and citizen. But if reform remains superficial, the opposite awaits. Within a decade, Egyptian media could be more isolated than ever, reduced to echo chambers of official rhetoric. Citizens, hungry for truth, would turn to alternative—often foreign—sources. Rumours would continue to thrive, public trust would erode, and the state would live under constant anxiety, fearing loss of control. Beyond Cosmetic Change One lesson is already clear. Reform cannot be reduced to changing faces or shifting responsibility from one authority to another. That is not reform; it is recycling. Nor can the file be handed to advertising executives or political technicians who lack the depth of media experience and treat the press as a marketing tool. Media is not advertising. It is not about sales, slogans, or fleeting impressions. It is about building an informed citizenry and a culture of accountability. It requires professionals who see journalism not as a commodity, but as a public trust. Only a comprehensive, freedom-based restructuring can transform Egypt's media from a hollow instrument into a national institution worthy of its people. The choice before Egypt—and before Sisi himself—is whether to settle for illusion, or to take the risk of truth.
