Interview| “If I die, keep fighting!”: Laila Soueif, the mother who won’t back down

Laila Soueif describes herself as “lucky.” Yet there is little trace of luck on her body or face, both of which bear the toll of eight months on hunger strike demanding the release of her son, Alaa, who has served his full term in prison.

She has lost a third of her body weight, her bones now visible beneath her skin. Her features have aged markedly, her posture is stooped, and her movements are weak. Her voice, though, remains strong. What kind of luck, one wonders, has touched this 69-year-old woman, who has spent the past 14 years shuttling between courtrooms, prosecutors’ offices, and prisons, following the endless charges and detentions of her three children? Her husband, human rights lawyer Ahmed Seif El-Islam Abdel Fattah, died while son Alaa and daughter Sanaa were both behind bars.

Even at the defining moment when she decided to resume her full hunger strike, Laila remained emotionally attuned to others and compassionate toward those suffering more than herself. “Despite everything people say about my suffering, I’m lucky,” she told Al Manassa during her recent visit to Cairo. “I’m fighting for a boy whose whereabouts I know. He’s alive, and I get to see him. My son, my daughters, my grandchildren are all alive. I’ve never had to bury a child or a grandchild.”

While the clock ticks, and as she realizes she might never see him again, Alaa, who is in his early forties, becomes once again in her eyes simply “a boy”. In a moment of the purest maternal love, she offers up her life for her boy.

In a video recorded in London months ago, she said, “I’m buying my children’s lives... The situation they’re in has to end, even if my life is the price.”

On Monday, May 19, a day after her return to London, Laila began a daily sit-in outside 10 Downing Street, the British prime minister’s residence. She is demanding that the British government fulfill its responsibilities towards Alaa, who holds British and Egyptian citizenship. The next day, she announced the resumption of her full hunger strike, ending her partial strike of 300 calries per day, in a move many fear could be her last.

The tragedies of others

Laila’s instinct to place the suffering of others before her own is not new, but reflects the way she has lived for decades. She has consistently stood at the forefront of protests as a fighter, activist, and a courageous woman capable of intervening between police and demonstrators. Whether at the gates of Cairo University, on the steps of the Journalists Syndicate, or in the streets during protests, she never shied away. She believed that her position as a university professor and a woman made her less vulnerable to state violence.

Though Alaa has now spent nearly 10 years in prison, this professor of pure mathematics at Cairo University sees her own plight alongside mothers and wives who have endured far worse. “I’m not searching for someone who’s been forcibly disappeared, like Mostafa Alnagar,” she said. “I haven’t received a mutilated body like Giulio Regeni’s mother. I’m not like the women of Syria or Gaza. I’m very lucky, despite everything.”

Despite the serious effects of her prolonged hunger strike, she joined a commemoration of the Nakba in front of the Journalists Syndicate on Thursday, May 15, to stand in solidarity with the Palestinian people.

As chants erupted in support of her struggle, Laila appeared visibly moved:

“Laila Soueif, we stand beside you.. Against the woes that bind us and bind you!”

“Alaa, our brother, hear our plea.. How deep the darkness, can you see? Tomorrow, the jailer’s reign will flee!”

Alaa’s ordeal, as his lawyer Khaled Ali previously explained to Al Manassa, centers on how the authorities calculated the duration of his sentence. They began counting from January 3, 2022, the date the military ruler ratified a verdict issued by an Emergency State Security Court, thereby disregarding the two-plus years he had already spent in pretrial detention.

Alaa was arrested on September 28, 2019, just as he exited Dokki police station at 6 a.m. at the end of a period on probation.

Now, like his mother, the “boy” has launched his own hunger strike. He began his fast in early March in solidarity with her fight for his freedom.

Alaa’s only son, Khaled, was born while he was in prison—just as his sister Mona was born while their father, Ahmed Seif, was incarcerated during the 1980s. Then, Laila would bring young Alaa to visit his father and let him play in the entrance to prosecutors’ offices and courts.

Now, history repeats itself. She visits her son in prison, but now with her grandson Khaled. Eventually she stopped bringing him, as the cruelty of glass partitions and telephone receivers proved too much for the child, who is on the autism spectrum and unable to comprehend such harsh barriers.

Inspirational solidarity, official silence

Laila has lost a third of her body weight since launching her hunger strike on September 30, 2024—the day after Alaa completed his sentence. She continued until March, when she switched to a partial fast after false promises of a pardon and release. For months, she survived on just 300 calories a day—a fifth of the minimum daily requirement.

The fruits of this prolonged hunger are twofold. The official response, she said, has been “far less than it should be. We’re nearing eight months and Alaa is still imprisoned. Nothing has changed.”

She stresses that responsibility lies with both the Egyptian and British authorities. The former, she argues, “because it doesn’t enforce the law.” And the British, “because they don’t take a stance befitting a country that claims to uphold the rule of law to secure the rights of one of its citizens. Ultimately, Alaa is a dual national, making him the responsibility of both governments.”

Born in England on May 1, 1956, Laila holds British as well as Egyptian citizenship. Alaa acquired his British citizenship through her in 2021, following family petitions that began in 2019.

The second outcome of her long hunger strike is more “inspirational.” Laila explained that her fight and the broader cause of political prisoners had been a magnet for solidarity. “It’s a result of the work of so many people,” she said. “It has brought attention to the plight of detainees in Egypt, of Britons unlawfully held around the world, and of Alaa specifically and the injustice he faces.”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XaVyxwYr00A

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Laila acknowledges that the British and Egyptian responses are not equivalent. She cited the visit of British Ambassador Gareth Bayley to her home on May 8. “He said the purpose of the visit was to check on my health and reaffirm the embassy’s concern and ongoing follow-up. He said Alaa’s case remains a priority. But there was nothing new.”

Laila insisted that she wants to see tangible results from these efforts to intercede, not just reassurances. “I’m grateful, of course, for the concern about my health. But I care more about Alaa’s health. I care about his release. I’m not that concerned about my own health.”

Asked if the ambassador had conveyed any promises from the Egyptian authorities, she replied, “Nothing new. Nothing since the last conversation between the British prime minister and the Egyptian president on February 28. They tell me they’re talking, but how would I know? I’m not in the room with them.”

“As soon as the British government got in touch with me, I told them: I want to see a result for Alaa. You say you’re 'talking to the Egyptian side, that this call was positive, that call was negative'. Okay, merci, but that’s your job. I want to see a result for my son. The very least I expect is a consular visit. But the real outcome I want is to see Alaa with Khaled in Brighton.”

A brief visit

Three months into her hunger strike in January, Laila traveled to England where she met with officials, supporters, and staged sit-ins outside the Foreign Office, the House of Commons, the House of Lords, and Downing Street. She then returned to Cairo for a short visit in early May.

Despite her daughters Mona and Sanaa voicing concern over her ability to endure the journey, Laila insisted on visiting Alaa, seeing friends and supporters, and reuniting with her extended family. She also wanted to send a clear message to the Egyptian authorities that she remains fully prepared “to pay the price, down to my last breath.”

Describing her reunion with Alaa after four months apart, she said she was able to visit him twice. The first was on May 4, “It went as usual. We waited a long time outside, then went into the glass booth. We spoke over the phone, taking turns—there’s no way to speak together or all at once. And their glass, they don't clean it properly, you can see but you can't see very well.”

“Still”, she added, “Alaa and I were ecstatic to see each other. We spent five minutes sharing updates on our health and life in prison. Alaa had just recovered from a severe illness, and that’s what pushed me to insist on coming. The girls were worried. They told me the flight would be exhausting. I said, ‘Sorry, I have to go.’ Then they said that Alaa would be shocked to see how I look. ‘Let him be shocked,’ I said, ‘I want to see him'.”

Yet, her second visit on May 6 was entirely different. She entered without waiting and was taken to an officer’s office—a “private visit,” as she described it—where, for the first time in long years, she was allowed to hug her son and hold him close without any barrier.

“There was no waiting at all. I went straight in, walked into a room, and hugged Alaa. I spent the entire visit in his arms. We were overwhelmed with happiness.”

Recalling Alaa’s reaction, she laughed: “When he hugged me, he said, ‘What happened to you, Mum? You’re just skin and bones.’ During the visits through glass, he could only see my face—and the clothes can hide things. When he saw my face up close, he said, ‘Your face...’ And I said, ‘My face looks like the mummy of Ramses.’ He said, ‘Not that bad. But your face just looks really old.’”

Laila and Alaa have for long respected the other’s decisions. “I wouldn’t dare ask him to end his hunger strike, and he wouldn’t ask me either. We’d just waste our limited time on pointless talk. He knows I won’t listen, and I know he won’t listen.”

On March 7, Sanaa wrote on Facebook that Alaa had begun a hunger strike on the first day of Ramadan, after learning how severely his mother’s health had deteriorated. She stated that his lawyers filed petition no. 17158 with the Public Prosecutor to officially document the strike, and that a prosecutor visited Alaa in detention the next day and took note of his demands.

Before returning to London, Laila made sure to exhaust every possible avenue. She sent her daughter Sanaa, along with Gameela Ismail, leader of Al-Dostour Party, to the Ittihadiya Palace to request a presidential pardon. Laila also accompanied lawyer Khaled Ali to the public prosecutor’s office to file a new request to count Alaa’s pretrial detention towards his sentence, which would make him eligible for release.

It may not lead anywhere, but Laila would leave no stone unturned. This is precisely why she ended her short visit to Cairo by participating in a conference hosted by the Almohafezeen Party in solidarity with the families of political prisoners.

In her speech, Laila insisted Alaa is not the only political prisoner and emphasized the importance of collective action: “We will not be silent. This issue will not disappear until there is a real solution.”

Under the slogan “They belong among us”, the event drew a large crowd of detainees’ relatives and supporters. In addition to their speeches demanding the release of their loved ones, there was an artistic exhibition, with installations resembling a prison cell, and room with tens of envelopes carrying detainees names for letter-writing campaign.

No turning back

Laila has now declared that she is resuming her total hunger strike. “This time, I will not back down. This was also my intention last time, but the messages I received and the assurances that these things [the diplomatic efforts] needed some time—plus strong appeals from everyone, including my daughters—led me to shift from a full to a partial strike. Back then, it was understood that ‘some time’ meant until the end of Ramadan and Eid, because there was talk of the Eid presidential pardon.”

On March 4, she responded to appeals from her family and supporters and moved to a partial hunger strike. Her daughter Sanaa said at the time that “credit goes to everyone who stood in solidarity and worked for Alaa’s release.”

Now, Laila sees that decision as a retreat that yielded no results. So she is again linking her survival to Alaa’s release. “It’s been three months, and we’re going into the fourth, and nothing has happened. I don’t have any more time. If Alaa walks out of prison, I’ll go straight to the hospital for the refeeding process. After all this starvation, it has to be done under medical supervision. But if he stays in prison, I will not end my hunger strike.”

She does not hide her emotional response to the growing wave of solidarity, despite the risks it may pose for those still inside Egypt. “I can’t believe this solidarity isn’t having an effect.” Her voice trembled as she described “the number of people who came here [her home in Dokki]. I don’t even know how many. Probably only the police informants stationed around the building know exactly.

“These people weren’t just showing solidarity with me. They were standing with all detainees.”

She also noted the online response. “The number of people writing, expressing anger, the women—mothers, grandmothers—calling me, commenting, and showing their support. Many of them came from circles I never expected.”

And the wave is not confined to Egypt. “MPs in the British Parliament are contacting me directly, asking, ‘What can we do?’” She mentioned a London taxi driver who recognized her and said, “I heard about you on the BBC. Stay strong.”

Still, no form of support moves her as deeply as the messages she receives from Syrian and Palestinian mothers, especially from Gaza. “These are people in a kind of hardship that can’t be compared to mine.” She added, “The longer the authorities drag this out, the broader the wave becomes.”

Laila is confident that Alaa will eventually be released, but she doesn’t know when—or whether she’ll live to see it. “I’m not sure that when the moment comes whether I’ll be there to meet him or not.”

She knows how heartbreaking it would be for her family and all those who’ve supported her if she doesn’t live to witness Alaa’s release. That’s why she hopes it happens soon. “I know how crushed people will be if that moment comes and I’m not here. For their sake, I want this to end quickly.”

Ahmed Seif always present

Laila still misses her late husband, human rights lawyer Ahmed Seif El-Islam Abdel Fattah, who had been her partner since their days in the student movement of the 1970s until his death in 2014. At the same time, she is grateful he did not live to witness this moment. “I can never forget the day Seif stood before a judge who didn’t understand the difference between pretrial detention and detention, just before he passed away. He was shocked. I saw the color drain from his face and his body crumple. In my heart, I knew that was the moment Seif began to die. I’ll never forget it.”

She misses his remarkable ability to balance realistic measures with principled conviction. Her beloved partner, who rose to prominence as a student leader and co-founded the leftist group al-Mitraqah/The Hammer, was imprisoned several times, culminating in a five-year sentence in the 1980s. During that time, he left Laila to raise their young son Alaa, and subsequently daughter Mona, alone. After his release from a prison where he endured torture, he committed himself to defending human rights, dedicating his life to improving the political and civil liberties landscape in Egypt. His activism made him both realistic and unwavering in principle.

“He knew how to strike that balance: stay principled, but push as hard as possible for results. But I believe sometimes, the balance itself means standing by your principles and letting the chips fall where they may,” she said. “Seif came up with creative solutions. I won’t claim being as creative as he was, but there are moments when there’s simply nothing to be done.”

She believes Seif would have supported her decision, extreme as it is. “He would have told me to keep going. Or maybe say nothing. Like everyone else. Seif knew me. He wouldn’t have tried to change my mind. He would’ve tried changing the pashas [the authorities] minds instead, he would've told them ‘Laila doesn’t back down’.” She says this with a faint smile.

A final testament

Laila, daughter of pioneering psychologist Dr. Mostafa Soueif and English literature professor Fatma Moussa, and sister of novelist Ahdaf Soueif, began her activism early as part of Cairo University’s student movement. She protested for freedom, and her journey from prison to prison began when her colleagues were arrested during the Bread Riots of January 1977, followed by her husband’s incarceration.

Despite her career as an academic, she divided her time between her children, her students, and her scholarly work, without ever stepping away from action in the public sphere. She stood in solidarity with the First Intifada, protested America’s war against Iraq on campus in 1991, co-founded the March 9 Movement for Independence of Universities, supported the Palestinian cause during the Second Intifada, and stood outside the U.S. embassy in March 2003 with protesters against the Iraq War. She was an active member in the Popular Campaign for Change that preceded the Kefaya movement.

Laila has lived a life of deep commitment to the values she believes in, culminating in a political journey that has lasted more than half a century. Though all she has left is a frail body, her spirit and intellect remain luminous. Her soul radiates resolve as she closes her conversation with Al Manassa with what feels like a final testament—a calm, determined farewell to the struggle she chose:

“My will, if God forbid something happens to me before Alaa is released, is that people carry on. Let your small fight continue until Alaa walks free. And your greater fight until they all walk free.”