The writer is the head of the International Relations Unit and Energy Programme at Al-Ahram Centre for Political and Strategic Studies
On the evening of 1 November 2025, Cairo did more than unveil a museum.
It unveiled a statement: Egypt was reclaiming its voice in the global narrative. The Grand Egyptian Museum (GEM), after more than two decades of construction, opened its doors to nearly 100,000 artefacts spanning 7,000 years of history, including 5,000 items displayed fully for the first time. Tutankhamun’s golden mask, his throne, and his war chariot dominate the collection—but the real power of GEM lies not in gold or stone, but in story.
Dozens of official delegations—heads of state, ministers, and international figures—witnessed this spectacle. President Xi Jinping’s congratulatory letter underscored GEM’s significance, calling it a landmark in preserving and transmitting Egypt’s ancient civilization. The message is unmistakable: In a changing world order, cultural influence matters as much as economic or military power. GEM is Egypt’s declaration that it will not be a passive subject of history but an active narrator.
The museum’s scale and ambition are staggering. But more than architecture or display, GEM is a narrative intervention. For centuries, Western powers, armed with military and economic dominance, extracted artefacts from Africa, Asia, and Latin America under the guise of “protection” or “scientific study.” The Rosetta Stone sits in the British Museum. Royal mummies, priceless sculptures, and ritual objects remain scattered across European collections. Under the rhetoric of universal heritage, these treasures were removed from their creators, leaving nations like Egypt dependent on foreign institutions to engage with their own past.
The implications go beyond legality. Ownership, in this context, is inseparable from the right to narrate history. When artefacts are held abroad, the stories of their creators are mediated, reframed, or silenced. GEM is not only a showcase of antiquities; it is an assertion of Egypt’s authority over its own narrative. As President Abdel-Fattah El-Sisi stated, GEM is “the fruit of a global partnership and a tribute to human civilization,” a deliberate claim that Egypt is not merely custodian but originator.
This is a moment emblematic of a broader shift. The Global South, once marginalized in global cultural discourse, is asserting agency. Nations that were once subjects of imperial collection are now building world-class museums, hosting international exhibitions, and launching diplomatic and legal campaigns to recover lost heritage. China’s 2023 Global Civilization Initiative embodies this ethos: Civilizations are not a hierarchy but a network, where dialogue and cooperation replace dominance and exclusion. GEM, in this sense, is part of a larger movement toward a decentralized, multipolar cultural world.
Yet GEM, for all its triumphs, remains incomplete. Some of Egypt’s greatest treasures, the very pieces that define its civilization, remain abroad. The Rosetta Stone is only the most famous example; dozens of other artefacts that illuminate pharaonic life are scattered across Western museums. GEM is breathtaking in its scope, yet its story is unfinished. Without these objects, the narrative is missing critical chapters. The museum’s opening exposes a historical rupture—a gap created by colonial extraction—and highlights why repatriation is not simply legal, but civilizational.
Restoration is about more than objects; it is about identity, memory, and agency. Artefacts are nodes of meaning, anchors of collective consciousness. For Egypt, reclaiming its treasures is reclaiming the right to tell its own story, to exercise cultural sovereignty, and to speak in its own voice. It is a moral and strategic imperative.
Egypt has already laid the groundwork. Legal frameworks have been strengthened, diplomatic campaigns intensified, and institutional capacities enhanced to protect and recover heritage. The world is watching. Western museums now face a question of legitimacy: Will they see repatriation as a loss or as a reaffirmation of justice? Returning treasures like the Rosetta Stone would not diminish authority; it would enhance it. Respecting rightful ownership strengthens credibility, signalling that cultural leadership derives from ethical stewardship rather than possession.
The stakes are higher than national pride. GEM’s opening challenges the old monopoly of Western institutions over global cultural representation. It signals the emergence of a multipolar cultural order where formerly colonized nations claim authority over their histories. Imagine the Rosetta Stone in Cairo, studied under Egyptian scholarship, interpreted from the perspective of the civilization that created it. The scenario is not symbolic—it is transformative. It shifts the centre of knowledge, restores narrative integrity, and asserts that heritage belongs first to its creators.
GEM also exemplifies the changing nature of soft power. In an era where influence is increasingly defined by ideas, networks, and narratives, the museum positions Egypt as a protagonist rather than a spectator. It is a demonstration that historical and cultural capital can rival economic and military power. Heritage, when wielded thoughtfully, becomes both an instrument of diplomacy and a beacon of national identity.
Ultimately, GEM is a beginning, not an endpoint. It marks a new phase in the struggle for cultural justice, one in which nations demand the return of stolen treasures, assert their right to self-representation, and reshape the architecture of global cultural authority. In reclaiming lost artefacts, Egypt—and other nations of the Global South—can redefine the ethics of preservation, justice, and storytelling.
In a world hungry for meaning, GEM illuminates a path forward. It reminds us that heritage is not a relic of dominance but a foundation for dialogue, cooperation, and shared dignity. Returning Egypt’s stolen treasures would restore not only gold and stone but voice, agency, and narrative sovereignty. In doing so, GEM stands as both a celebration of the past and a blueprint for the future: A world where stories are written by their rightful owners, and where culture becomes a bridge rather than a barrier.
The Grand Egyptian Museum is not just a museum; it is a declaration. It tells the world that history is not only about possession, but about stewardship, that power is measured not only in might, but in the ability to narrate and to connect, and that justice—historical, cultural, and moral—can reshape the global order. GEM is a testament that Egypt, ancient and modern, is not only remembering its past—it is reclaiming it.
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