A Reading of the “Tasis” Nairobi Document: Their Revolutionary Lineage in October, April, and December (1-2)

By Abdullah Ali Ibrahim

Summary

I have not come across a document that celebrates the Sudanese revolution for change as much as Tasis does in its preamble. It honors the uprisings of October 1964, April 1985, and December 2018 as a revolutionary lineage that brought them together in Nairobi. The preamble describes these as Sudan’s “glorious, cumulative” peaceful revolutions against military dictatorships, reflecting the people’s relentless pursuit of freedom and dignity. Yet, it is surprising that Tasis, whose ideology and struggle have long been against the northern elite and populace of the post-1956 Sudanese state, would so enthusiastically celebrate these revolutions. After all, those behind these uprisings were largely from the very “northerners” accused of creating the 1956 state, rather than the armed groups in Nairobi and their predecessors.

The coalition meeting held in Nairobi last week, aimed at forming a parallel government in areas controlled by the Rapid Support Forces (RSF), is frequently mentioned in connection with the looming threat of Sudan’s fragmentation. The reason is simple: Sudanese elites have been haunted by the fear of disintegration since the South’s secession in 2011. Every event like the one in Nairobi triggers this anxiety, akin to the Sudanese saying: “A wife who has been divorced before always fears another divorce.” This might explain why most discussions about the Nairobi meeting focus on its ominous implications rather than its actual agenda or outcomes. However, what emerged from it deserves attention in its own right, as it revives the role of political culture in Sudanese politics, which has often been overshadowed by opposition tactics. The Sudanese opposition landscape has seen an exhausting proliferation of alliances, producing endless, repetitive documents—so much so that they seem to offer nothing new.

Cumulative Revolutions

I have not encountered a document that celebrates the Sudanese revolution for change as much as Tasis does in its preamble. It honors the uprisings of October 1964, April 1985, and December 2018 as a revolutionary lineage that brought them together in Nairobi. The preamble describes these as Sudan’s “glorious, cumulative” peaceful revolutions against military dictatorships, expressing “the extent to which our people are deeply committed to and yearning for freedom and a dignified life.”

Even among the most distinguished historians of modern Sudan, few have recognized this continuous revolutionary thread in Sudan’s political transformation. Many tend to isolate each uprising, favoring one over the others. Some even argue that the October 1964 movement was not a revolution at all.

What is surprising, however, is that Tasis, a group whose ideology and ongoing struggle have been centered against the northern elite and populace of post-1956 Sudan, would so warmly embrace these revolutions. This is puzzling because these uprisings were largely led by broad segments of the very “northerners” accused of creating the 1956 state—rather than the armed groups in Nairobi or their predecessors. Even in Nairobi, Abdulaziz al-Hilu, leader of the Sudan People’s Liberation Movement-North (SPLM-N), complained about these northern elites and groups resisting the 1956 state’s center. He argued that they had historically been mobilized by the central elite against the ethnic and religious “other,” implying that these elites had deceived their own people into viewing others as enemies.

This stands in stark contrast to the Tasis preamble, which praises these very groups as being at the forefront of the revolutions it commends. The question then arises: if the armed groups that preceded Tasis and the current Tasis group genuinely supported these revolutions—mentioned with such gratitude—why did they refuse to aid them when they sought their assistance to complete their cycles?

The Contradiction Between Two Strategies

At the core of Sudan’s revolutionary history lies a fundamental contradiction between two strategies: civilian and armed resistance in the pursuit of political change. This contradiction has repeatedly led civilian-led revolutions—those of 1964, 1985, and 2018—into failure. Every time a civilian revolution succeeded, the armed resistance would abandon it, based on the belief that such revolutions merely replaced one Khartoum elite with another. According to this view, the ruling elite of Sudan’s center could only produce blind successors, incapable of genuine transformation.

This sentiment was most clearly expressed by Colonel John Garang, the leader of the Sudan People’s Liberation Movement (SPLM), when he labeled the post-1985 Military Council as “May 2.” In his view, all that had happened was that the military officers of President Jaafar Nimeiri had inherited power from him. Nimeiri had seized power through a coup on May 25, 1969—”May 1.” Garang coined “May 2” to describe the military officers who overthrew Nimeiri during the 1985 revolution, arguing that they were merely a continuation of his rule.

Instead of aligning with the trade union movement that led the revolution and sought his support, Garang distanced himself. He even set a high demand—that the Military Council be dismantled—before he would acknowledge and join the civilian leadership.

Had Garang stopped at this demand, it might have been understandable. However, he went further, continuing his armed struggle, which ultimately led to the militarization of the state. This militarization culminated in an alliance between the military and the Islamist movement, which orchestrated the coup of June 1989. Ironically, Garang later reconciled with the very regime he fought against, signing the Comprehensive Peace Agreement (CPA) in 2005.

A similar pattern occurred with the October 1964 revolution, which was abandoned by the southern nationalist armed movement, Anya-Nya, while the Round Table Conference (1965) was convened in Khartoum. This was the first Sudanese conference after independence to address the “Southern question” as a national issue rather than a mere rebellion.

The armed movements in Darfur took a more direct approach. Instead of engaging with the 2018 revolution, they allied with the military in the Sovereignty Council, positioning themselves in opposition to the transitional civilian government. They then signed the Juba Peace Agreement (2021), a deal that ultimately led to the formation of the “Partners’ Council,” which served the military’s agenda of undermining the civilian government. The revolution, abandoned by all the armed movements, ended with the coup of October 25, 2021.

Between Civilian and Armed Resistance

The troubled relationship between civilian and armed resistance, as well as the contradictions within the latter, has been the subject of criticism from figures within the armed struggle. For instance, Lam Akol, a former senior military leader of the SPLM, was dismayed by Garang’s cold response to the 1985 revolution, especially when his own soldiers in the field were celebrating it with gunfire.

Before the December 2018 revolution, Yasser Arman, a prominent SPLM leader, wrote Towards a Second Birth of the New Sudan Vision, in which he called for reassessing the armed struggle and recognizing the importance of mass civil resistance. He argued that armed movements could not achieve their strategic goals without “correct conclusions regarding the significance of peaceful democratic struggle within cities” and mobilizing their base.

Similarly, Sharif Harir, an academic and leader within the Sudanese Alliance (part of the Darfur armed movements), criticized the obsession with militarized resistance. He argued that these movements have unfairly dismissed peaceful resistance, even when it successfully overthrew central regimes that they had fought for years. In his view, militarization is merely a political tool—not an end in itself.

Harir warned these armed groups against deceiving themselves into believing that they are purely military organizations, while dismissing civilian resistance as weak. He reminded them that they are, first and foremost, political entities—not just armed factions.

This echoes the words of Amílcar Cabral, the leader of Guinea-Bissau’s liberation movement against Portuguese colonial rule in the 1960s. Cabral cautioned his movement against the arrogance of militarism, emphasizing that armed groups are not inherently military forces, but rather political activists who have taken up arms out of necessity.

To be continued…