After decades without a national framework regulating refugee affairs, the Egyptian Parliament passed the country’s first-ever asylum law in December 2024. The move was officially described as “a necessary step to organize the status of millions of foreigners residing in Egypt.” Members of Parliament welcomed it as a milestone that aligns Egypt with countries that have formal asylum systems.
However, human rights organizations viewed it as the beginning of a new layer of restriction that threatens the international protection framework — particularly due to the law’s vague language regarding “national security” and “public order,” which could justify limiting refugees’ freedoms or enforcing arbitrary deportations.
The Egyptian government has taken a clear stance in its official discourse, describing the new law as “a measure to regulate refugee affairs in a way that preserves national sovereignty and eases the burden on the state.”
During parliamentary discussions, government representatives outlined the law’s main objectives, stressing that the Permanent Committee for Refugee Affairs will operate under the supervision of the Cabinet, and that its decisions will remain subject to judicial review.
Egypt’s Parliament Passed the First Asylum Law in the Country’s History in December 2024
Several MPs argued that the law is consistent with both the Egyptian Constitution and international conventions. It grants refugees fundamental rights to education, work, and healthcare, while requiring them to refrain from engaging in any political or partisan activities within the country.
Mahmoud Fawzy, the Minister of Parliamentary and Legal Affairs, clarified during the parliamentary session that “the Permanent Committee for Refugee Affairs will be subject to judicial oversight, and under no circumstances will refugees be handed over to their countries of origin.” He further emphasized that the law “guarantees refugees access to education, employment, and healthcare, in line with the Egyptian Constitution and international agreements to which the state is a party.”
The government justifies this approach by citing the significant financial burdens associated with hosting millions of refugees and migrants. According to parliamentary data, the cost of providing services such as education, healthcare, and social protection amounts to billions of dollars annually.
In contrast, human rights organizations working on asylum issues argue that the new law politicizes refugee protection, as it transfers the authority to determine refugee status from the UNHCR to a governmental committee under the direct supervision of the Cabinet.
Human rights organizations working on asylum issues argue that the new law opens the door to the politicization of protection cases.
A policy paper published by the Refugees Platform in Egypt points out that the committee’s composition “strips the principle of independence of its meaning,” since it consists solely of representatives from ministries and security agencies — with no involvement from independent civil organizations or entities with technical expertise in refugee affairs.
The analysis warns that granting the committee the power to deport asylum seekers whose applications are rejected (under Article 7) constitutes a direct violation of the non-refoulement principle enshrined in the 1951 Refugee Convention. The paper also highlights the law’s repeated use of vague terms such as “national security” and “public order” without providing clear definitions – wording that could be exploited to restrict rights or justify arbitrary decisions.
Furthermore, the paper notes the absence of clear mechanisms for appealing the committee’s decisions or ensuring that refugees have access to effective legal representation. The law requires individuals to hold valid residence permits in order to authorize lawyers to represent them – a condition that, in practice, is unavailable to most asylum seekers.
The analysis concludes that these loopholes—combined with the absence of executive regulations—may turn the law into “a tool for restricting protection rather than strengthening it.” It stresses the need for broad public dialogue and the participation of refugee organizations in any future review or amendment process.
Although these concerns appeared to be primarily legal or technical, they quickly resonated among refugees themselves—many of whom now find themselves facing a new law whose implementation remains unclear.
The absence of clear mechanisms for appealing committee decisions or ensuring effective legal representation for refugees.
While rights organizations warn that the lack of executive regulations leaves major gaps in protection mechanisms, refugees living in Egypt say they have received no official clarification on the law or what rights and obligations it entails.
Testimonies collected for this investigation reveal a mix of emotions among refugees — ranging from hope for improved living conditions to fear that the new legal framework could impose further restrictions on their freedom of movement, work, and safety.
The Sudanese community constitutes the largest group of refugees and asylum seekers in Egypt. According to UNHCR data, as of March 2025, there were around 672,930 registered Sudanese refugees, while government figures estimate that more than 1.2 million Sudanese have entered the country since the conflict in Sudan began.
Against this backdrop, Sudanese activist Salwa Saeed describes the new law as “a double-edged sword,” noting that while it grants some long-missing rights, it simultaneously takes others away.
She says: “The law allows refugees to have their educational certificates recognized in Egypt and grants them the right to basic education and self-employment if their qualifications are officially accredited — a positive step indeed. However, it also states that those who obtained refugee status prior to the law’s enactment will now be subject to its provisions, which raises serious concerns.”
She adds that her greatest concern lies in the use of vague expressions such as “well-founded fear” to determine who qualifies for protection, arguing that the concept “is legally undefined and leaves wide room for interpretation by authorities.”
Salwa also believes that some articles of the law clash with the social and cultural norms of refugee communities. “The law criminalizes anyone who shelters an asylum seeker without notifying the police,” she explains. “But how can I report a relative just because they sought refuge in my home?”
She points out that most refugees were unaware of the law when it was passed, as the authorities launched no official awareness campaigns. “I only learned about it through the ‘Meddad’ initiative, which organized information sessions explaining the draft law and our rights under it,” she says.
She concludes by noting that the law remains effectively suspended until its executive regulations are issued, and that transferring the UNHCR’s authority to a governmental committee “raises genuine fears — dealing with an executive body like the Ministry of Interior does not provide refugees with a sense of safety or trust.”
Lawyer and migration expert Mostafa El-Hassan believes that, in its current form, the law grants the governmental committee broad powers without adequate safeguards or effective oversight mechanisms.
El-Hassan says that “the committee, in its current composition, has the authority to decide who qualifies as a refugee and who does not – a matter that carries the risk of politicization, especially in the absence of clear definitions for concepts such as persecution or national security.”
He adds that the law fails to establish genuine safeguards for appealing the committee’s decisions or for requesting a review. It merely includes a vague reference to judicial oversight without outlining any specific procedures — a loophole that could limit asylum seekers’ ability to defend themselves legally.
He also criticizes the absence of any article guaranteeing a refugee’s right to communicate with a lawyer during the application process, noting that the current procedures make it “almost impossible to appoint legal counsel unless the applicant already holds valid residency.”
El-Hassan warns that the provisions granting the committee the power to take “measures against a refugee” on the grounds of national security give it broad discretion that could be used to justify detention or deportation — especially given the lack of a clear definition of such measures or mechanisms for judicial review.
He adds that these vague formulations make the law vulnerable to misapplication and open the door for the misuse of public security exceptions to restrict individual freedoms.
Following criticism from human rights experts and lawyers, the debate surrounding the asylum law has moved beyond purely legal questions to touch the daily realities of refugees’ lives.
While rights advocates warn that certain provisions may allow for restrictive “security interpretations,” refugees themselves live in a state of uncertainty and confusion about what these new rules actually mean for them. In this context, testimonies gathered from organizations working directly with refugees offer a closer look at life on the ground.
Shaimaa Sami, Director of the Meddad Initiative for Refugee Support, says that the new law was passed without any accompanying effort by the authorities to inform refugees or the organizations working with them — leaving a major gap in awareness and understanding.
She explains that the initiative, along with several independent organizations, tried to fill this gap by holding educational workshops and explaining the draft law. Yet, she notes, “refugees remain confused and uncertain about whether these new rules will ultimately serve them — or be used against them.”
The law contains a few positive points,
yet it remains filled with gray areas that could be used to restrict rights.
Shaimaa adds that while the law introduces some positive measures, it is also “full of gray zones that could be used to limit rights.”
She explains: “The refugees we work with ask practical questions about their daily lives — from their right to education and work to access to healthcare and even burial — and so far, there are no clear answers.”
She points out that the absence of executive regulations months after the law’s passage has only deepened the uncertainty.
“Many refugees still don’t know what will happen next,” she says. “They are used to dealing with the UNHCR — despite the difficulties — and no one has explained to them how things will change or which authority will handle their cases moving forward.”
She continues: “At Meddad, we’ve started explaining the law from a rights-based perspective and breaking down its articles for target groups, but what’s really needed is a greater role from the state itself — to communicate with refugees in a language they understand and trust.”
Shaimaa concludes that her greatest concern is the shift in the refugee–state relationship from a humanitarian framework to a security-based one. She points out that dealing with an authority such as the Ministry of Interior “does not inspire a sense of safety or transparency among refugees.”
In the end, Egypt’s new asylum law stands as a turning point between two opposing paths:
A state seeking to regulate and control the presence of millions of residents on its soil — and refugees seeking protection without fear.
Until its executive regulations are issued, the law will remain suspended between promises of protection and fears of restriction.
