To Stay on the Right Track

By Diaa Al-Din Bilal

I dare say there is no country where the formation of governments and the selection of ministers is followed with as much attention as in Sudan.

With ministers coming and going in quick succession, and qualifications often treated as a matter of little consequence, the ceiling of ambition has been thrown wide open for anyone aspiring to climb the political ladder—regardless of their competence or credentials.

In recent years, weapons, tribal affiliations, and party loyalty have achieved what academic degrees and impressive résumés could not.

I often said that even the bodyguard standing behind a minister might harbor ambitions of taking his place, believing he is no less deserving than the man he protects.

The entire matter has become a free-for-all, with unrealistic aspirations and no clear standards to regulate competition or determine who is fit for which position—and why.

I was once amused by the celebrated Sudanese historian and writer Professor Abdullah Ali Ibrahim, who, years ago, commented on a newspaper interview that introduced a rebel leader by noting that he had once hijacked a plane.

With his trademark irony, Abdullah quipped: “In the past, politicians were defined by their roles in student unions—President of the Khartoum University Union, member of the Forty-Man Council, or leaders of the October and April uprisings. Now they’re being introduced as plane hijackers!”

Successive cabinet reshuffles have produced transient ministers who left no imprint—neither their names remembered nor their initiatives recalled. Many treated office as a chance to prepare for life after power, engaging in reckless plundering of public funds while bowing and scraping on their way out.

Whenever they awaited assignments, they were met instead with perks—and so they lapsed into submissive silence, wearing complacent smiles until the moment of departure arrived.

The ministerial seat is coveted by thousands, fueled by eagerness and ambition. For the luxury cars, personal guards, official protocol, first-class flights, and the coveted green pen, blood is spilled and honor squandered.

In troubled societies, politicians are always the stars.

That is why I have long called for reducing both the material and symbolic value of ministerial office, so that its appeal is diminished to reasonable proportions. Instead, we must strengthen the arms of the civil service and strategic planning councils, so that the ministerial post becomes just one option among other, more attractive paths.

Sudan’s crises will not be solved so long as ministerial office remains such a glittering prize—so long as the title “minister” outweighs every academic and professional distinction.

The solution may lie in making the position less enticing and curbing ministerial powers to the broad outlines of policy, oversight of implementation, and external relations. What has crippled our ministries is the constant turnover, with each minister eager to carve out a personal legacy from the very moment he takes office.

If the promise of forming a genuine technocratic government is finally fulfilled, then the state will have chosen the right path—the same one taken by nations that rose before us, achieving success by privileging competence over loyalty.

The secret behind Singapore’s remarkable experience lay in prioritizing economic and developmental considerations over political calculations, and relying on a lean but highly efficient bureaucracy.

Lee Kuan Yew, the architect of Singapore’s transformation, summed up the formula for success: “We always chose the best person for any task, regardless of their origin, affiliation, or religion. We cared only about results, knowing that failure would mean civil wars and the collapse of the dream.”

The real battle for any government is not against opposition parties or armed movements. These cannot be appeased with positions, nor defeated with weapons.

The real battle lies in the daily hardships of citizens—in services, livelihood, and dignity.

For this, we need to build a state of integrity and good conduct, one that produces enough to meet its own needs, sparing itself dependency on others and shielding itself from their harm.

A state loved by its people, and respected by the world.