In the heart of Greater Cairo, residents of the Nile island of Warraq are fighting against a government-backed urban development scheme.
“These are not images of Manhattan Island!”
With this statement, the State Information Service, the Egyptian government’s media arm, showcased the new development plan of Warraq, the country’s largest island on the Nile river. Images of the proposed project revealed futuristic skyscrapers, green landscapes, a marina for yachts—a skyline more reminiscent of Dubai than New York.
Warraq sits in a prime location between Cairo and Giza, spanning roughly 1,400 acres (about 5.88 square kilometers) and is home to nearly 100,000 residents who work in various trades, fishing, and agriculture. Over the past few years, these residents have faced forced eviction as the government renewed its push to “develop the island” and transform it into a “global commercial hub… rivaling the world’s leading trade centers,” according to the State Information Service presentation.
Forced displacement of people is not a minor concern in Egypt, but rather a central component in the urban development model that the Egyptian government employs to drive economic growth
The proposed development plan, however, starkly contradicts the current reality of the island, not to mention Egyptian cities in general. It highlights how authorities manage their urban development processes while dismissing the needs of local communities, and bypassing socioeconomic, environmental, and demographic considerations. These are the very factors that answer the core question of urban development: Who are we planning for?
Forced displacement of people is not a minor concern in Egypt, but rather a central component in the urban development model that the Egyptian government employs to drive economic growth. This is why it is essential to examine the dynamics of the ongoing struggles between citizens and the government across the country.
The speech that changed everything
“There’s an island of over 1,250 acres in the middle of the Nile. I won’t name it, but there, informal housing has spread, and people have seized land. If 50,000 homes dump waste, where will it go? Into the Nile, the water we drink?” This is how President Abdel Fattah El Sisi mentioned the Warraq Island for the first time, during a speech in June of 2017, which upended the lives of the island’s residents, according to Ahmed*, a local activist. A few weeks after that speech, on the morning of July 17, the island’s residents woke up to hundreds of security forces asking them to vacate their homes.
“We stood our ground, unarmed. One of us was killed, dozens were arrested,” said Ahmed. “And so the siege began.” This is when security forces set up checkpoints and forced strict rules on who and what could enter the island, according to him. His life, and that of his family, friends, and neighbors, changed forever that week.
“We were self-sufficient. We didn’t need anything from outsiders. In fact, others depended on us. We had farmland, skilled farmers, laborers, teachers, engineers, and doctors. Now, all we have left are our bodies fighting for our land.”
Fertile agricultural land covers over two-thirds of the island, sustaining its residents with crops, poultry, and fish from the Nile. Ahmed explains that most of Warraq’s families form a tight-knit community that grew even stronger under siege. “Our unity has always been our strength, and it only deepened after the attacks,” he said, adding that government negligence in providing basic services has pushed the island’s residents to rely on donations and local initiatives to build schools, mosques, and clinics.
Siege and resistance
Abuses by security forces, the grievances of the island’s residents, and the outcry that ensued, did little to change the government’s policy. After all, it was the state’s highest authority, the president, who gave the order to retake “the state’s land…with absolute force.”
Yet, many of the island’s residents deny that they are illegally occupying the island, citing court orders, parliamentary findings, and contracts that have been signed with the government over the years. The security forces’ use of violence on the island’s residents came without prior warning, according to witnesses who spoke to TIMEP on the condition of anonymity. Security forces ignored provisions of a 2018 law requiring consultation with local communities, documentation of property, and providing alternative suitable housing or compensation, in case the state wanted to “develop” an area. The law also requires providing citizens means for legal recourse and protection from forced displacement.
But none of this happened.
Authorities have since embarked on a campaign to siege the island to try and isolate residents. Three of the five ferries used to transport residents in and out of the island were stopped, while security checks on the remaining two were intensified. Building materials were banned from entering the island to prevent new construction or repairs to existing houses, a tactic to pressure residents.
Abuses by security forces, the grievances of the island’s residents, and the outcry that ensued, did little to change the government’s policy.
Ahmed said that residents continued smuggling building materials, despite the restrictions. He estimates that while the government seized around 500 houses, residents informally built more.
The government also suspended all public services on the island. The land registry office was moved, the island’s clinic, which had already lacked emergency care, was neglected, forcing citizens to seek medical care outside the island, which was made difficult by the siege.
Authorities also expanded their intimidation tactics, arresting dozens of residents on charges of illegal assembly and joining a terrorist organization, a charge often used against political dissidents. Many of those residents remain in custody serving lengthy sentences.
Now, trucks of riot control forces have a permanent presence on the island, and clashes with residents have become a regular occurrence. The head of Giza security, the highest police authority in the governorate, has set up an office there, alongside officers from the National Security Agency, one of the main bodies in charge of political security in Egypt.
“Our children have grown used to tear gas,” Ahmed said. “Security raids are common. We live under endless terror, life here has become hell.”
A long standing target
Warraq’s unique location as an agricultural oasis in the heart of Greater Cairo allowed its citizens to flourish, living a life that combines urban and rural lifestyles. This location is also what made a target for governments eager to build lucrative real estate projects.
The earliest attempt to seize the island was in May 2001, when the government issued Decree 542 declaring the Warraq and the nearby island of Dahab a “public utility land,” a preclude to depossess its resident. The government, however, never disclosed the nature of the islands’ “public utility” or any development plans.
A parliamentary committee was formed to investigate the decree, and found that the island’s residents had the right to live on it. In July 2001, an administrative court voided the decree, ruling that the government had failed to present a project proposal and violated urban planning laws. The court also affirmed residents’ rights, whether as landowners or long-term occupants, rejecting state claims of “illegal occupation.
Negotiating under duress
In 2017, the government’s position was to insist on evacuating the island from its residents, without compensation, on the grounds that they are illegally occupying the land. But as the conflict developed and the clashes intensified, authorities offered in 2018 a meager compensation of 1,400 Egyptian pounds (around $80 at the time) per square meter, while across the Nile prices reached 8,000 pounds ($457). The residents rejected the offer.
Another offer was made three years later, offering to compensate the residents with either housing units in ‘Embaba’, a working class neighborhood in Northern Giza, or agricultural land in Sadat City, 100 kilometers north of Cairo, on the road to Alexandria. Ahmed explained that the government’s offers were unsuitable for the residents, since their livelihoods were at risk by losing their homes, as residents would no longer be able to continue to work in the fishing and agriculture industries. The residents’ main demand is the preservation of their lifestyle and the right to return to the island after its “development.”
Using brute force could have further escalated the conflict, with the risk of it spreading elsewhere.
The government’s changed approach and resort to negotiations was likely caused by Warraq’s residents’ unprecedented organizing at a time when even the slightest dissent is crushed in Egypt. Using brute force could have further escalated the conflict, with the risk of it spreading elsewhere.
The government raised the value of the compensation, but it remained insufficient. In 2020 it offered 16,000 Egyptian pounds (around $1,000 at the time) per room, which meant that a four-bedroom apartment was valued at 64,000 Egyptian pounds ($4,000), an amount that was not enough to buy 10 square meters on the other side of the Nile. Today’s offer is around 50,000 pounds (still around $1,000 due to the devaluation of the pound), an amount that is barely enough to buy a social housing unit that the government sells for around 530,000 pounds (about $10,000).
Alternating between force and negotiations, the New Urban Communities Authority (NUCA), the government’s arm for urban development, took control of around 75 percent of the island by 2022. Ahmed explained that the authorities “realized that a third of the island’s farmland was owned by people who lived off the island. They pressured them to sell. Other residents just gave in to avoid daily harassment.” With these acquisitions, NUCA established offices on the island. “We’ve lost control of the land that fed us. We once had everything.” Now, “the earth is scraped bare, our livelihoods destroyed. But we’ll keep resisting,” said Ahmed.
Development as an existential threat
The question is not whether all urban development is inherently harmful, rather, it is how to achieve progress without erasing communities like in Warraq.
The answer requires reevaluating the main priorities and goals of development. There should be a shift away from top-down mega projects in favor of local, community-led, initiatives that prioritize the interests of the people regardless of the interests of government agencies and private investors.
The case of Warraq island is not merely a land ownership dispute or a disagreement over an urban development scheme. Rather, it is an existential struggle for the island’s residents, who represent a unique model of coexistence and sustainable development. What has unfolded since 2017 reveals a deep chasm between the state’s vision of modernization and the preservation of a unique and sustainable community.
Warraq island is not the first case where the government puts the interests of private investments above those of local communities. However, the island’s residents have been fortunate enough to have a strong community bond that has enabled them to fight. This cohesion remains their strength today as they face a siege that has lasted seven years.
Ultimately, the future of Warraq Island hinges on reconciling the government’s ambitions with the aspirations of its residents. Development must serve to enhance the community’s unique social and environmental values, not erase them. The ideal and most just scenario for Warraq is the enforcement of the law that mandates negotiation with residents and their consultation to whatever comes next.
*The name has been withheld to protect the safety and privacy of the individuals involved.
Ibrahim Ezzeldin is a former nonresident fellow at TIMEP and an Egyptian urban planner and researcher.
