By Mariam Jooma Çarikçi
As South Africa’s legal team delivered evidence to the International Court of Justice to prove their case against Israel for genocide in Gaza, I couldn’t help but think back to when similar accusations were made against Sudan nearly eighteen years ago. Under Omar al-Bashir, Sudan faced severe sanctions and intense international activism amid claims of ethnic cleansing in Darfur, where violence was framed as a conflict between Arabs and Africans.
This idea of an “Islamist Arab” government committing human rights abuses turned Darfur into a focal point for celebrity activism. George Clooney emerged as a leading voice, calling for sanctions and even getting arrested at a protest outside the Sudanese embassy. He founded the Satellite Sentinel Project, utilizing advanced satellite imagery to monitor human rights abuses and presenting findings to the U.S. Senate. Clooney’s dedication was so intense that he once remarked that much of his earnings from commercials went toward keeping a satellite over Sudan to monitor al-Bashir.
The world appeared grateful for Hollywood’s involvement in Sudanese affairs, influencing U.S. foreign policy towards perceived rogue states. There was no need for an ICJ application to validate accusations against Sudan; the narrative fit neatly into Washington’s geopolitical framework. The country had been a stop for Osama bin Laden in the 1990s and was notorious for its anti-Zionist policies, making it a target for international condemnation.
The atrocities in Darfur were indeed grave and unacceptable. Yet, as we witness the ongoing violence in Gaza, why do Palestinians still have to “audition” for their humanity? The focus should shift from what Palestinians are to what they resist. Much like the Darfur conflict in the 2000s, the Palestinian struggle is rooted in opposition to an expanding Zionist settlement. This colonial project aligns seamlessly with Western imperial interests, complicating any moral outrage regarding the suffering of Palestinians, mostly women and children.
In Sudan, grievances of marginalized populations were amplified to facilitate U.S. geopolitical ambitions. The nation’s strategic location near the Red Sea drew attention from various global powers, including Russia. Sudan’s elite dominance and environmental degradation further inflamed tribal conflicts, yet these complexities often elude U.S. policymakers who prefer simpler narratives of Arab versus African violence.
The dynamics of the conflict post-Bashir reveal that neither faction is truly championing democracy. The Rapid Support Forces (RSF) under Mohamed Hamdan Dagalo (Hemedti) are backed by the U.S. and UAE, which have vested interests in Sudan’s agricultural and energy sectors. The UAE controls significant farming operations and has invested heavily in Sudan’s economy, which they fear might be jeopardized by democratic reforms.
On the other hand, General Abdel Fattah al-Burhan of the Sudanese Armed Forces (SAF) poses no real threat to Western interests. Instead, it is his ties to Russia and China that raise alarms in Washington.
The recent BRICS summit highlighted the shifting power dynamics, prompting the U.S. to impose sanctions on Sudanese officials. These sanctions were ostensibly in response to the SAF’s use of Russian weapons, yet the hypocrisy is glaring given U.S. support for Israel’s actions in Gaza.
The path to lifting Sudan’s “terrorist” label was laden with conditions: normalization with Israel, compensation for past terrorist acts, cooperation on counterterrorism, political reforms, and assurances of stability. Meeting these demands led to Sudan’s removal from the U.S. terrorism list in December 2020, allowing the country to seek international aid and investment.
It’s crucial to recognize that the U.S. maintains a military presence in Sudan, even after the United Nations Mission in Sudan (UNMIS) closed earlier this year. Under the guise of supporting U.S. nationals during the evacuation from Sudan, the U.S. has kept troops in the country, alongside its bases in the Horn of Africa.
General Burhan has little intention of honoring the ‘transitional’ aspect of his government’s title. In 2020, he agreed to grant Russia free access to Port Sudan in exchange for arms. This arrangement not only allows Russia to access the Sudanese port but also positions it strategically near its allies in Syria and Yemen. Such access would enable Russia to conduct naval and military activities, influence international trade in the Red Sea, and strengthen its ties with Iran by escorting Iranian oil tankers through the strait.
Coup after coup, the power—if not the legitimacy—of the Sudanese state has rested with its military. This is a convenient reality for both Western and Eastern interests, focused on maximizing their benefits from engaging in Sudan. In this equation, neither Burhan, Hemedti, nor the leftist parties possess substantive legitimacy. It’s evident that no one in authority truly represents the will of the Sudanese people.
Like many other Muslim countries that emerged from the fall of the Ottoman Empire in 1923, the Sudanese people long for stability, peace, and prosperity. However, they are not willing to sacrifice their identities as Muslims for these aspirations. The conflict among parties arose in opposition to suggestions of removing Islam from the Sudanese constitution in favor of a secular, non-denominational charter. For ordinary Sudanese, Islam is not just an integral part of their identity; it’s deeply tied to their struggles against imperialism.
Islam has united the majority of Sudanese, transcending regional, tribal, and perceived racial differences. The legendary Darfurian warriors exemplify this unity through their spiritual resistance to British colonial rule, which contributed to the chaos of the post-Caliphate world.
Foreign interventionists in Sudan primarily aim to reconstruct the army, reorienting its ideological foundation to detach Islam from the state’s character. Like the establishment of a Western-oriented Republic of Turkiye after the Ottoman Empire’s demise—one that violently suppressed any reference to Islam—the current Sudanese generals are alienated from their Muslim constituents.
Yet, just as Islam revitalized in Turkey after nearly a century of secular dictatorship, the people of Sudan may find their voice, offering an alternative to the exploitative Western model of elite rule. Perhaps the Turkish whirling dervishes of Konya will be joined by the chanting of Omdurman’s African dervishes across the Nile, forming a chorus of liberatory prayer for a world that returns to justice for all. From Konya to Khartoum, and Khan Younis to Kazan, the power of a united Ummah stands as the strongest brick in the wall of resistance.
Mariam Jooma Çarikçi is an author and researcher focusing on Media, Türkiye, and the Horn of Africa at the Media Review Network (MRN).
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