Sisi left Doha deeply frustrated, his vision of Arab unity rejected
At a summit in Doha in mid-September 2025, Egypt's bid to awaken a dormant 1950 collective defence treaty and forge a NATO-style Arab military alliance was quietly buried by Gulf states unwilling to cede strategic autonomy or antagonise Washington. The rejection was not merely procedural — it exposed a widening fault line between Cairo's vision of Arab solidarity and the Gulf's preference for bilateral arrangements and American mediation. For President Sisi, who for the first time publicly named Israel an 'enemy,' the moment marked both a personal frustration and a broader reckoning with Egypt's diminishing gravitational pull in the Arab world.
- Egypt arrived at Doha with a concrete plan to finally activate a 1950 collective defence treaty, hoping the Gaza crisis would give Arab states the urgency to unite under a single military structure — but the proposal was dead on arrival.
- Qatar and the UAE blocked the initiative outright, with Gulf states simultaneously moving to deepen their own separate Gulf Defence Council, signalling that Cairo's claim to Arab military leadership is no longer accepted.
- A Qatari delegation had returned from Washington carrying an American message: do not pass resolutions against Israel — a quiet intervention that shaped the summit's outcome more than any speech on the floor.
- Sisi left Doha isolated, his defence proposal rejected, his demand for a firm stance on Gaza unmet, and the summit's final statement offering condemnation of an Israeli strike but nothing binding.
- In a striking departure from decades of careful diplomatic language, Sisi publicly called Israel 'an enemy' — a signal that Egypt's domestic and strategic pressures are pushing Cairo toward a posture it has long avoided.
President Sisi came to the Doha summit in September 2025 with an ambitious proposal: revive the Arab world's long-dormant 1950 Joint Defence and Economic Cooperation Treaty and build a NATO-style collective security structure. Egypt's Foreign Minister presented it to Gulf counterparts as a path to regional self-reliance. On paper, it was a reasonable ask from the Arab world's most experienced military power.
It went nowhere. Qatar and the UAE blocked the plan outright. The surface dispute was over command — Saudi Arabia wanted to lead, Egypt believed its military record entitled it to that role — but the deeper fracture was strategic. Gulf states refused to bind themselves to Egypt's vision, rejected any alliance that might include Iran or Turkey, and instead moved to reinforce their own Gulf Defence Council. The message to Cairo was unmistakable.
American influence quietly shaped the summit's outcome. A Qatari delegation had returned from Washington with a clear signal: do not pass resolutions against Israel. The Trump administration, Arab states were told, would manage the crisis and restrain Netanyahu. The Emirates embraced this logic; others followed. The final communiqué condemned an Israeli strike on Doha that had killed six people just days earlier, but committed to nothing concrete.
For Egypt, the summit was a painful exposure of its isolation. Sisi had hoped to lead a unified Arab and Islamic response to the Gaza crisis and to the threat of Palestinian displacement into North Sinai. Instead he departed without commitments from anyone. In a notable escalation, he publicly described Israel as 'an enemy' — the first time since taking office in 2014 — reflecting how sharply his calculus had shifted under the pressure of Israeli threats and domestic sentiment.
The failure echoed a familiar pattern. Egypt had attempted to revive the same 1950 treaty at a 2015 summit in Sharm el-Sheikh, and that effort too had collapsed over leadership and funding disputes. The Doha summit suggested that Arab military cohesion, long aspirational, is becoming more distant still — and that Egypt's role as the Arab world's anchor is no longer something Gulf states feel obliged to honour.
President Sisi arrived at the Doha summit in mid-September with a concrete proposal: unite the Arab world under a single defensive military structure, modeled on NATO, to protect member states from external threats. The plan rested on a 1950 treaty signed in Cairo—the Joint Defence and Economic Cooperation Treaty—which had long sat dormant, invoked occasionally but never truly activated. Egypt's Foreign Minister Badr Abdelatty presented it to his Gulf counterparts as a practical step toward regional security without dependence on outside powers. It was, on paper, a reasonable ask from a nation that had long positioned itself as the Arab world's military anchor.
But the proposal never gained traction. Qatar and the United Arab Emirates blocked it outright, Egyptian diplomats told Middle East Eye. The stated disagreement centered on leadership: Saudi Arabia wanted command of the force, while Egypt argued its decades of military experience made it the natural choice. Yet the real fracture ran deeper. Gulf states refused to include Iran or Turkey in any alliance. They rejected the idea of binding themselves to Egypt's vision of collective Arab defense. Instead, they opted to strengthen their own separate Gulf Defence Council—a pointed signal that Cairo's leadership was no longer welcome or needed.
The timing was significant. Just days before the summit, Israel had struck Hamas leadership in Doha, killing six people. The Arab League and Organisation of Islamic Cooperation had convened to present a united front. Egypt had hoped for concrete action: a clear demand that Israel end its campaign in Gaza, a firm rejection of any forced displacement of Palestinians into North Sinai. What it got instead was diplomatic theater.
Behind the scenes, American influence shaped the outcome in ways the final communiqué never acknowledged. A Qatari delegation had returned from Washington with a message for Arab states: do not pass resolutions against Israel. The Americans, according to Egyptian officials, promised that President Trump would manage the crisis and restrain Netanyahu from attacking another Gulf country. The Emirates embraced this logic. Other Arab states, finding themselves isolated when Qatar's position dominated the room, concluded that action against Israel was futile. The best course, they decided, was to pressure the United States to pressure Israel into a ceasefire in Gaza. The summit's final statement condemned the Israeli strike on Doha but stopped short of anything binding or concrete.
For Egypt, the outcome was a setback that exposed its isolation within the broader Arab coalition. Sisi left Doha deeply frustrated. The rejection of his defense proposal signaled that Gulf states—wealthier, more strategically aligned with Washington, less dependent on Arab solidarity—were no longer willing to follow Cairo's lead. A political analyst close to the region noted that the summit revealed "deep divisions within the Arab world over how to confront Israel." Egypt had hoped to project itself as the leader of Arab and Islamic defense. Instead, it departed without decisive commitments from anyone.
The broader context made the moment sharper. Egypt had been the first Arab state to normalize relations with Israel in 1979, a move brokered by the United States and still resented by much of the Egyptian public. For decades, Sisi had walked a careful line—maintaining the peace treaty while managing domestic opposition. But the current moment—Israeli threats to target Hamas leaders in Cairo, the specter of Palestinian displacement into North Sinai—had shifted his calculus. In a notable escalation, Sisi described Israel as "an enemy," the first time he had used such language since taking office in 2014. It was a measure of how much the ground had shifted beneath him.
The 1950 Joint Defence Treaty had always been more aspiration than instrument. It created a Joint Defence Council and an Economic and Social Council, binding members to treat an attack on one as an attack on all. But political rivalries, clashing national interests, and regional disputes had undermined it from the start. Member states drifted toward bilateral deals and alliances with outside powers. In 2015, Egypt had tried to revive the treaty at a summit in Sharm el-Sheikh, proposing a unified Arab military force. That too had foundered on disputes over leadership and funding. The repeated failures underlined a stubborn reality: achieving Arab military cohesion remained elusive, perhaps impossible. The Doha summit suggested it was becoming more so.
Citações Notáveis
Egypt proposed a defensive regional force aiming to establish a rapid-response alliance to shield member states from external threats, particularly Israel— Senior Egyptian diplomat
The summit only agreed to convene a Gulf Defence Council meeting, a clear sign to Cairo that Gulf states are unwilling to support Egypt— Political analyst
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
Why did Egypt think it could lead this alliance when it had already normalized with Israel decades ago?
Because military capability and historical experience still counted for something in Arab politics—or at least Sisi believed they did. Egypt has the largest standing army in the region. But that legacy only goes so far when the Gulf states have the money and the American ear.
So the Americans essentially vetoed the plan without saying a word?
Not exactly vetoed. More like they made clear what the cost of action would be. Qatar went to Washington, came back with assurances, and suddenly the whole room shifted. When the wealthiest states in the room decide the Americans have it handled, everyone else falls in line.
What does Sisi calling Israel an enemy actually change?
Domestically, it matters enormously. He's been walking a tightrope since 2014, maintaining the peace treaty while his own population despises Israel. Calling it an enemy is him finally acknowledging what his people have always believed. But diplomatically? It signals he's given up on being the bridge between the Arab world and the West.
Is this the end of Arab collective security?
It might be the end of the illusion that it was ever really possible. The 1950 treaty was written when Arab states still believed in Arab unity. Seventy-five years later, they're choosing bilateral deals and American guarantees instead. Egypt's proposal was the last gasp of that older vision.
What happens to Gaza in all this?
It becomes a problem the Arabs hope America will solve for them. That's what the summit really decided—not to act together, but to outsource the pressure to Washington. For Egypt, which borders Gaza and has its own security concerns, that's a hollow outcome.