An exploration of the conflict in Sudan and why it is so underreported in the UK despite its genocidal nature and the relevance of British involvement.
Sudan is large. It is the third largest country in Africa and the 16th largest in the world by total land area. With an estimated 50 million people across more than 500 ethnic groups and 400 languages, it is also one of the most ethnically and linguistically diverse countries in Africa.
However, up-to-date statistics on Sudan are rare because it is extremely hard to gather accurate data on the country, especially since 2010, when the sitting President, Omar al-Bashir, revoked the permits of several humanitarian aid organisations to operate in the country. This severely limited access to support for the most vulnerable groups in Sudan and prolonged the lack of reliable data collection the country has faced since the outbreak of the war in Darfur in 2003.
Between 2003 and 2005, the region of Darfur in the west of the country saw atrocities committed against non-Arab ethnic minorities, namely the Fur, Zaghawa, and Masalit communities. In that time, around 300,000 civilians were killed and a further 2.7 million were displaced.
Since the start of the most recent civil war in 2023, not only have more than 14 million people been displaced, but the same groups have faced similar treatment in a campaign that, according to the UN Fact-Finding mission for Sudan, has been genocidal in nature.
So, if the extent of suffering, instability, and targeted violence is so great, why is the crisis in Sudan so underreported, and what can that tell us about political sentiment in the UK?
Comparing the conflict in Sudan with the one in Gaza may be a good place to start answering those questions. Not because genocides or humanitarian crises should be ranked, but because it can help us examine similarities and differences between the situations and ask ourselves why we might observe stories about Gaza differently to those about Sudan.
One clear difference is the perception of each situation. People in the UK and across the world saw footage from journalists and mobile phones of Gaza being levelled and the genocidal atrocities perpetrated against civilians by the Israel Defense Forces (IDF). The same cannot be said for the actions of the Rapid Support Forces (RSF).
So, do we need to watch emergency amputations in bombed-out kitchens to appreciate that a situation is dire, or can we read about the facts of a situation like Darfur and be just as outraged?
Like in Israel and Palestine, the history of British involvement in Sudan still plays a role in the country today. Between 1899 and 1956, modern Sudan and South Sudan were controlled by Britain and Egypt. The British conquest of the Nile Basin combined every region and people in the area into one administrative zone, including the largely Arab and Muslim North (modern Sudan) and the largely African and non-Muslim South (modern South Sudan), so when that area became Sudan in 1956, the differences between communities were not fairly represented by the makeup of the new nation state. South Sudan voted for independence in a 2011 referendum, attempting to address irreconcilable cultural and economic divisions with its northern neighbour.
As it stands, the internationally recognised Sudanese government is run by the Sudanese Armed Forces (SAF) and controls most of the country outside of Darfur. They face the RSF, a paramilitary group formerly allied with the SAF during the country’s most recent successful coup d’état in 2021, descended from the militia that carried out atrocities in Darfur between 2003 and 2005.
Modern Sudan’s internal conflicts, including this one, have often involved minority marginalisation, partly as a result of arbitrary colonial borders which are not conducive to the protection of rights or ways of life for minorities inside them. Maybe our current inactivity reflects some level of post-colonial guilt; Britain drew the borders that caused the current state of affairs and now feels a bit guilty, so thinks it should probably just leave them to sort it out.
This explanation is a deliberate oversimplification, attempting to rationalise the fact that the conflict in Sudan is effectively ignored in the UK despite its severity. I am not suggesting that Britain should simply step in whenever its former colonies face civil unrest, just that, when observing the plight of Sudan today, we cannot ignore Britain’s involvement.
This prompts a vital question on the reason for our collective disgust at the genocide in Gaza: is our outrage based on the acts themselves, or the perceived complicity of the British government and other governments in the West?
By no means does this question need to be answered in such a binary way, but it is worth considering because there are credible reports that the United Arab Emirates (an ally of the UK) has been supporting the RSF by arming them with British-made military equipment.
However you look at the Sudanese conflict, there is little excuse for the attention deficit it faces in this country today. It has been labelled as the “world’s worst humanitarian crisis” for a reason: nearly one in three Sudanese people have been displaced in three years, by a conflict which has included genocidal violence, and there seems to be no end in sight.
The legal concept of genocide was devised so that, after the Holocaust, the international community could identify the fundamental aspects of the crime based on its past occurrences and prevent it from happening again. Its definition is not based on a given country’s perceived complicity, but on a perpetrator’s fulfilment of a set of criteria based on historical and legal precedent.
If we feel called to act when the UN Special Committee on Israeli Practices recognises the campaign in Gaza as genocide, Sudan should be no different. It should send alarm bells ringing for anyone who understands the gravity of the term.
So why is the conflict still so underreported? Does it come down to paternalism towards African nations?
Out of every country in Africa, Sudan tops the list for the highest number of coups d’état, with 18 attempts and six successes since 1950. Maybe the current conflict just seems run-of-the-mill and unsurprising to many in the West, given the country’s historical fragility.
I’m not so sure. I think there is definitely a Sudan-shaped hole in British political discourse, and that even for a cynic, the slightest exposure to the brutal reality of life in Darfur and wider Sudan today would spark, at least, some basic human empathy towards those affected.
Thankfully, there is not a complete information drought. Material on Sudan does exist, even if it is scarcer than on other conflicts, so regardless of why there is such a dearth of coverage and discussion on Sudan we can still stay informed to an extent.
We may just have to use whatever agency we have and look a little harder for our information to make sure Sudan stays in conversation.
What Can The Ongoing Conflict In Sudan Tell Us About Political Sentiment In The UK?
An exploration of the conflict in Sudan and why it is so underreported in the UK despite its genocidal nature and the relevance of British involvement.
Sudan is large. It is the third largest country in Africa and the 16th largest in the world by total land area. With an estimated 50 million people across more than 500 ethnic groups and 400 languages, it is also one of the most ethnically and linguistically diverse countries in Africa.
However, up-to-date statistics on Sudan are rare because it is extremely hard to gather accurate data on the country, especially since 2010, when the sitting President, Omar al-Bashir, revoked the permits of several humanitarian aid organisations to operate in the country. This severely limited access to support for the most vulnerable groups in Sudan and prolonged the lack of reliable data collection the country has faced since the outbreak of the war in Darfur in 2003.
Between 2003 and 2005, the region of Darfur in the west of the country saw atrocities committed against non-Arab ethnic minorities, namely the Fur, Zaghawa, and Masalit communities. In that time, around 300,000 civilians were killed and a further 2.7 million were displaced.
Since the start of the most recent civil war in 2023, not only have more than 14 million people been displaced, but the same groups have faced similar treatment in a campaign that, according to the UN Fact-Finding mission for Sudan, has been genocidal in nature.
So, if the extent of suffering, instability, and targeted violence is so great, why is the crisis in Sudan so underreported, and what can that tell us about political sentiment in the UK?
Comparing the conflict in Sudan with the one in Gaza may be a good place to start answering those questions. Not because genocides or humanitarian crises should be ranked, but because it can help us examine similarities and differences between the situations and ask ourselves why we might observe stories about Gaza differently to those about Sudan.
One clear difference is the perception of each situation. People in the UK and across the world saw footage from journalists and mobile phones of Gaza being levelled and the genocidal atrocities perpetrated against civilians by the Israel Defense Forces (IDF). The same cannot be said for the actions of the Rapid Support Forces (RSF).
So, do we need to watch emergency amputations in bombed-out kitchens to appreciate that a situation is dire, or can we read about the facts of a situation like Darfur and be just as outraged?
Like in Israel and Palestine, the history of British involvement in Sudan still plays a role in the country today. Between 1899 and 1956, modern Sudan and South Sudan were controlled by Britain and Egypt. The British conquest of the Nile Basin combined every region and people in the area into one administrative zone, including the largely Arab and Muslim North (modern Sudan) and the largely African and non-Muslim South (modern South Sudan), so when that area became Sudan in 1956, the differences between communities were not fairly represented by the makeup of the new nation state. South Sudan voted for independence in a 2011 referendum, attempting to address irreconcilable cultural and economic divisions with its northern neighbour.
As it stands, the internationally recognised Sudanese government is run by the Sudanese Armed Forces (SAF) and controls most of the country outside of Darfur. They face the RSF, a paramilitary group formerly allied with the SAF during the country’s most recent successful coup d’état in 2021, descended from the militia that carried out atrocities in Darfur between 2003 and 2005.
Modern Sudan’s internal conflicts, including this one, have often involved minority marginalisation, partly as a result of arbitrary colonial borders which are not conducive to the protection of rights or ways of life for minorities inside them. Maybe our current inactivity reflects some level of post-colonial guilt; Britain drew the borders that caused the current state of affairs and now feels a bit guilty, so thinks it should probably just leave them to sort it out.
This explanation is a deliberate oversimplification, attempting to rationalise the fact that the conflict in Sudan is effectively ignored in the UK despite its severity. I am not suggesting that Britain should simply step in whenever its former colonies face civil unrest, just that, when observing the plight of Sudan today, we cannot ignore Britain’s involvement.
This prompts a vital question on the reason for our collective disgust at the genocide in Gaza: is our outrage based on the acts themselves, or the perceived complicity of the British government and other governments in the West?
By no means does this question need to be answered in such a binary way, but it is worth considering because there are credible reports that the United Arab Emirates (an ally of the UK) has been supporting the RSF by arming them with British-made military equipment.
However you look at the Sudanese conflict, there is little excuse for the attention deficit it faces in this country today. It has been labelled as the “world’s worst humanitarian crisis” for a reason: nearly one in three Sudanese people have been displaced in three years, by a conflict which has included genocidal violence, and there seems to be no end in sight.
The legal concept of genocide was devised so that, after the Holocaust, the international community could identify the fundamental aspects of the crime based on its past occurrences and prevent it from happening again. Its definition is not based on a given country’s perceived complicity, but on a perpetrator’s fulfilment of a set of criteria based on historical and legal precedent.
If we feel called to act when the UN Special Committee on Israeli Practices recognises the campaign in Gaza as genocide, Sudan should be no different. It should send alarm bells ringing for anyone who understands the gravity of the term.
So why is the conflict still so underreported? Does it come down to paternalism towards African nations?
Out of every country in Africa, Sudan tops the list for the highest number of coups d’état, with 18 attempts and six successes since 1950. Maybe the current conflict just seems run-of-the-mill and unsurprising to many in the West, given the country’s historical fragility.
I’m not so sure. I think there is definitely a Sudan-shaped hole in British political discourse, and that even for a cynic, the slightest exposure to the brutal reality of life in Darfur and wider Sudan today would spark, at least, some basic human empathy towards those affected.
Thankfully, there is not a complete information drought. Material on Sudan does exist, even if it is scarcer than on other conflicts, so regardless of why there is such a dearth of coverage and discussion on Sudan we can still stay informed to an extent.
We may just have to use whatever agency we have and look a little harder for our information to make sure Sudan stays in conversation.
Author
Glasgow Students Hold 7 October Pro-Palestine Demonstration
From the Red Roses to the Badgers: Why are more women playing rugby?
What the Navier-Stokes dispute means for students