Prepared by the researche : Yesmin Elhemaly – Researcher specialized in African and political
DAC Democratic Arabic Center GmbH
In the heart of Africa, Sudan now stands on the brink of collapse — a tragic example of how a modern state can unravel under the weight of military rivalries and the entanglement of regional and international agendas. Since the outbreak of war in April 2023 between the Sudanese Armed Forces, led by General Abdel Fattah al-Burhan, and the Rapid Support Forces (RSF), commanded by Mohamed Hamdan Dagalo “Hemedti,” the country has endured one of the worst humanitarian crises in its modern history. From Khartoum to El-Fasher, cities have become theatres of destruction, and the nation has fractured between two warring authorities, each claiming legitimacy and sovereignty. Millions of Sudanese civilians are trapped between bombardments and militia violence, while the state itself has all but vanished as a protective institution. With infrastructure in ruins and aid flows severed, hunger, disease, and displacement are spreading relentlessly. Sudan today stands as a living testament to the disintegration of a nation before the eyes of a world that issues statements — while its people die in silence.
The fall of El-Fasher in October 2025 to RSF forces marked a pivotal moment in the war, not only militarily but symbolically. The city, once the last stronghold of the national army in Darfur and a final remnant of Sudan’s unity, became a mirror reflecting the country’s collective tragedy: besieged towns, a society teetering on the edge of famine, and civilians trapped between fear and despair. With El-Fasher’s fall, all of Darfur came under RSF control, fuelling talk of Sudan’s de facto partition — an east ruled by the army, and a west under militia dominance. Reports of massacres and war crimes, documented by human rights groups and satellite imagery, have revived the haunting memories of Darfur’s first genocide in the early 2000s. Yet this time, the world’s silence is deeper, its indifference more complete — as if history’s repetition were an inevitability, not a failure.
Amid this grim landscape, the paralysis of the international community has become a central factor in perpetuating the conflict. The hesitant and contradictory stances of major powers reveal either implicit complicity or a complete lack of political will to stop the catastrophe. Accusations that regional actors — including the United Arab Emirates, Egypt, and Iran — are backing opposing sides expose how Sudan’s war has morphed into a proxy battleground driven by economic and strategic ambitions. As ethnic divisions widen and social trust collapses, talk of national reconciliation rings hollow without genuine internal resolve and credible international support. Sudan now faces a defining crossroads: either it revives the vision of a civilian, unified state through an inclusive national dialogue, or it sinks irreversibly into the fate of a “failed state,” like Libya and Yemen. With each passing day of bloodshed, one question grows ever more urgent: where is Sudan headed?
Sudan Between an Army and a Parallel State – The Roots of Conflict and the Structure of Military Division
Since gaining independence in 1956, Sudan’s army has been the most influential institution in political life — yet it has never truly functioned as a professional national army. Instead, it became an instrument in the hands of ruling elites, mirroring their internal power struggles. For more than half of its history, the military governed through coups — from Abboud to Nimeiri to al-Bashir — developing an ingrained mentality of “guardianship over the state.” The army came to see itself as the ultimate arbiter of who should rule Sudan and how. In the absence of strong civilian institutions, the army exploited the post-2019 revolution’s fragility to reassert its dominance under the pretext of protecting sovereignty and stability, all while preparing for an inevitable confrontation with its power rival, the Rapid Support Forces (RSF) — a parallel military entity operating beyond state control.
The RSF’s creation is one of Sudan’s most tragic paradoxes. Initially established by Omar al-Bashir’s regime as an auxiliary force to crush the Darfur rebellion, it gradually evolved into a powerful army-within-an-army — self-financed, heavily armed, and wielding influence that extended beyond the state’s reach. Ironically, al-Bashir himself, driven by paranoia toward the regular army, strengthened the RSF as a counterweight against potential coups, unaware that he was nurturing the very force that would dismantle the state he sought to protect. When his regime fell, the RSF was never integrated into the national military structure, instead retaining its independent command and field authority — making a violent confrontation with the army all but inevitable. Each side saw itself as the sole legitimate embodiment of state power.
When fighting erupted between the army and the RSF in April 2023, it was not a sudden clash for dominance but the culmination of decades of political and institutional decay. The conflict exposed the deep fragility of Sudan’s state apparatus and the collective failure of both military and civilian elites to forge a new social contract after the revolution. Each side constructed its own narrative of legitimacy: the army as the defender of order and sovereignty, and the RSF as a “corrective force” against a centralized regime that monopolized power for generations. This structural tension between “the center and the periphery” resurrected Sudan’s old fault line — a north that owns the state and a south and west that own the grievance. The war thus became a theatrical reenactment of the country’s long history of exclusion, inequality, and broken promises.
The gravest danger today is that this conflict has transcended the struggle for power and become a process of state unmaking. Both sides are building separate economic systems, foreign alliances, and governance structures — effectively dividing Sudan into two entities: an army controlling the east and the remnants of the central state, and a militia ruling the west and Darfur. This fragmentation threatens to erase the very idea of “one Sudan,” long cherished as a symbol of national identity. If the war persists, the country risks devolving into a fragile mosaic of competing armed authorities — a failed state akin to Libya or Yemen. Without a unifying national project to rebuild the military on professional, apolitical foundations, Sudan will remain trapped in a cycle of endless conflict, where division becomes the norm and the state, as once known, fades into history.
Darfur Once Again – Genocide, Forgotten Memory, and the Struggle for Identity
Darfur, once known as the “Land of the Sultan” and celebrated for its rich cultural and ethnic diversity, has since the early 2000s become synonymous with pain and genocide. The tragedy did not begin with the current war; it is rooted in decades of political and economic marginalization imposed by the central government in Khartoum. Since Sudan’s independence, Darfur has been excluded from development and basic services despite its vast agricultural, mineral, and human wealth. This neglect fostered a deep sense of alienation among its people, reinforced by official rhetoric that portrayed the “civilized center” in contrast to the “rebellious peripheries.” When the armed rebellion erupted in 2003 against Omar al-Bashir’s regime, the government responded with brutal force, arming Arab militias later known as the Janjaweed. What followed was mass killing and displacement on a horrific scale — a moment that redefined the relationship between the state and its citizens along ethnic, rather than national, lines.
The new tragedy in El-Fasher in 2025 is merely another chapter in the same story, with different faces. The Rapid Support Forces (RSF), born from the Janjaweed, are now employing the same tactics they used two decades ago: encirclement, siege, indiscriminate shelling, and systematic extermination. The only difference is that this time, the militia is no longer a tool of the regime — it is the regime. Human rights organizations and satellite imagery have documented mass executions of civilians, including killings inside hospitals and displacement camps. More than ten million displaced Sudanese now form a “shadow state” — an entire population living beyond the borders of official geography. With each wave of violence, the very notion of coexistence erodes further, deepening the divide between Arab and African communities in the region. Darfur edges closer to becoming a de facto autonomous entity controlled by a militia that wields weapons but lacks a political vision.
The genocide in Darfur is not a past event but a continuing system of structural violence and impunity. From the massacres of 2003 to the present day, justice for the victims has been symbolic at best — expressed only through unenforced international arrest warrants. The world has forgotten Darfur because its tragedy is no longer “new,” and the global media treats the deaths of thousands as a repetitive headline. This neglect has instilled in Darfurians a bitter conviction that justice is selective and that their lives hold little weight in the scales of international politics. The renewed atrocities in El-Fasher, Zamzam, and Geneina confirm that the roots of the crisis remain unaddressed and that the absence of accountability has bred a new generation of killers — more ruthless and better organized. Even now, the crimes are being documented while no one intervenes, as if Darfur were doomed to replay its agony before a silent, complicit world audience.
Yet behind the devastation, Darfur remains a symbolic battleground for Sudan’s identity crisis. The question is not merely who governs, but who belongs. The tragedy has exposed the profound weakness of Sudan’s national identity, where citizens are classified by ethnicity and tribe rather than by equal citizenship. This destructive binary between “Arab” and “African” has spread beyond Darfur, threatening the very fabric of Sudanese society and its future as a unified state. Without a national project that embraces diversity and redefines citizenship on the basis of equality, Sudan will remain hostage to recurring cycles of violence — burning today in Darfur, and perhaps tomorrow in Kordofan or the East. Darfur is not just a local tragedy; it is a mirror reflecting everything Sudan has failed to achieve: justice, equality, and a shared identity.
Axis Two: Darfur Once Again – Genocide, Forgotten Memory, and the Struggle for Identity
Darfur, once known as the “Land of the Sultan” and celebrated for its rich cultural and ethnic diversity, has since the early 2000s become synonymous with pain and genocide. The tragedy did not begin with the current war; it is rooted in decades of political and economic marginalization imposed by the central government in Khartoum. Since Sudan’s independence, Darfur has been excluded from development and basic services despite its vast agricultural, mineral, and human wealth. This neglect fostered a deep sense of alienation among its people, reinforced by official rhetoric that portrayed the “civilized center” in contrast to the “rebellious peripheries.” When the armed rebellion erupted in 2003 against Omar al-Bashir’s regime, the government responded with brutal force, arming Arab militias later known as the Janjaweed. What followed was mass killing and displacement on a horrific scale — a moment that redefined the relationship between the state and its citizens along ethnic, rather than national, lines.
The new tragedy in El-Fasher in 2025 is merely another chapter in the same story, with different faces. The Rapid Support Forces (RSF), born from the Janjaweed, are now employing the same tactics they used two decades ago: encirclement, siege, indiscriminate shelling, and systematic extermination. The only difference is that this time, the militia is no longer a tool of the regime — it is the regime. Human rights organizations and satellite imagery have documented mass executions of civilians, including killings inside hospitals and displacement camps. More than ten million displaced Sudanese now form a “shadow state” — an entire population living beyond the borders of official geography. With each wave of violence, the very notion of coexistence erodes further, deepening the divide between Arab and African communities in the region. Darfur edges closer to becoming a de facto autonomous entity controlled by a militia that wields weapons but lacks a political vision.
The genocide in Darfur is not a past event but a continuing system of structural violence and impunity. From the massacres of 2003 to the present day, justice for the victims has been symbolic at best — expressed only through unenforced international arrest warrants. The world has forgotten Darfur because its tragedy is no longer “new,” and the global media treats the deaths of thousands as a repetitive headline. This neglect has instilled in Darfurians a bitter conviction that justice is selective and that their lives hold little weight in the scales of international politics. The renewed atrocities in El-Fasher, Zamzam, and Geneina confirm that the roots of the crisis remain unaddressed and that the absence of accountability has bred a new generation of killers — more ruthless and better organized. Even now, the crimes are being documented while no one intervenes, as if Darfur were doomed to replay its agony before a silent, complicit world audience.
Yet behind the devastation, Darfur remains a symbolic battleground for Sudan’s identity crisis. The question is not merely who governs, but who belongs. The tragedy has exposed the profound weakness of Sudan’s national identity, where citizens are classified by ethnicity and tribe rather than by equal citizenship. This destructive binary between “Arab” and “African” has spread beyond Darfur, threatening the very fabric of Sudanese society and its future as a unified state. Without a national project that embraces diversity and redefines citizenship on the basis of equality, Sudan will remain hostage to recurring cycles of violence — burning today in Darfur, and perhaps tomorrow in Kordofan or the East. Darfur is not just a local tragedy; it is a mirror reflecting everything Sudan has failed to achieve: justice, equality, and a shared identity.
The Regional and International Role – How Sudan Became a Battleground for Influence and Interests
It is impossible to understand Sudan’s war without recognizing the tangled web of regional and international interests that have turned the country into an open arena for geopolitical rivalries. Since the fall of Omar al-Bashir’s regime in 2019, competing regional powers have rushed to carve out spheres of influence within Sudan, each pursuing its own agenda and strategic foothold. The United Arab Emirates—accused of providing financial and military support to the Rapid Support Forces (RSF) through supply routes in Chad and Libya—seeks to secure a stake in Sudan’s lucrative gold trade and control key logistical corridors stretching to the Red Sea. Egypt, on the other hand, backs the national army under General al-Burhan, fearing the emergence of a rebellious western entity on its southern border that could reignite unrest in Upper Egypt or threaten Nile security. As these powers jostle for dominance, the humanitarian dimension of the crisis has all but disappeared, reducing Sudan’s tragedy to a mere footnote in the ledger of regional interests.
The situation is further complicated by the entry of other international players. Iran, which recently restored diplomatic relations with Sudan, has reportedly supplied the army with drones and surveillance technology as part of its contest with Gulf and Israeli alliances for control over the Red Sea. Russia, for its part, views Sudan as a golden gateway for military and economic expansion in Africa through the Wagner Group, which has long collaborated with the RSF in gold smuggling and arms trading. The United States and the European Union limit themselves to expressions of “deep concern” and token sanctions, while the UN Security Council remains paralyzed by the conflicting interests of major powers. Every actor condemns the violence rhetorically while enabling it in practice, leaving Sudan trapped in a cynical global equilibrium where its suffering becomes just another statistic in UN briefings.
The most dangerous aspect of this unacknowledged internationalization of the conflict is that it has stripped Sudanese people of their agency in shaping their own political future. The war is no longer simply between al-Burhan and Hemedti, but between competing visions: a Gulf–Egyptian project aimed at restoring a centralized military state, and a counter-project supported by powers favoring Sudan’s fragmentation into zones of economic and security influence. Amid this rivalry, authentic Arab and African mediation efforts have vanished. The African Union and IGAD have failed to impose any meaningful settlement, while the Jeddah process—sponsored by Riyadh and Washington—devolved into a platform for mutual accusations rather than a step toward peace. With no unified international approach, the prospects for resolution fade, and the war persists as an open-ended cycle benefiting only arms dealers, gold traffickers, and political intermediaries.
As the Sudanese state disintegrates, the danger grows that it will become a “new African Syria” — a country without a center, partitioned among factions and manipulated by external powers operating from the shadows. Sudan is no longer merely an internal crisis; it is a geostrategic knot linking the Horn of Africa, the Red Sea, and the Sahel-Sahara corridor — making its stability a matter of national security for several states. Yet this awareness has not led to collective action, only to a competitive scramble for resources, ports, and trade routes. Thus, instead of serving as a bridge for regional integration, Sudan has become a casualty of ambition among rival capitals. If this trajectory continues, Sudan’s fate will not be decided in Khartoum or El-Fasher, but in distant meeting rooms of foreign capitals — where the country exists only as a map for the next round of gold and power deals.
In conclusion, Sudan stands today at the most perilous crossroads in its modern history — poised either to rise from its ashes as a new state reconciled with itself, or to be consigned to the annals of failed nations exhausted by their own internal wars. The battle between the army and the Rapid Support Forces is merely a symptom of a deeper malady: the collapse of a unifying state and the erosion of citizenship under the weight of weapons, tribal loyalties, and foreign interests. The salvation of Sudan will not come through the victory of one faction over another, but through the revival of a national consciousness that understands the survival of the country matters more than the survival of its generals. Unless political will is unified and a new social contract is built on justice, equality, and accountability, Sudan will remain an open field for every opportunist, its wounds bleeding without end. History has already granted this nation more than one chance at redemption — but this time, it will not wait. Either the Sudanese will write their own future, or they will be written about as a people who lost their way in the shadows of war.
