The UAE and the Rapid Support Forces — and Between Them, Sudan

By Khaled Al-Adhad

In later decades, Arabs amused themselves by coining long Arabic renderings for certain English words. Among the wittiest—reportedly dating back to the 1960s and attributed to the poet Kamel El‑Shennawy—was the mock translation of “sandwich” as: “shater and mashtour, with fresh—or pickled—filling in between.” The “pickled” refers to the relish or condiment placed between the two halves.

That playful definition came back to mind as I followed the latest tragic developments in Sudan. It recalled Al-Mutanabbi’s famous line: “How many things in Egypt provoke laughter—yet it is laughter like weeping.” The “first half” is well known, arriving from the far eastern edge of the Arab world. The “second half” is equally known, from its far western reaches. And the “fresh filling” is known too: a proud and generous people—among the noblest of Arabs in virtue and dignity—now scorched by the fire of compatriots and former allies who betrayed themselves before betraying their faith, their Arab identity, and their honor. What remains is to ask: whose mouth devours this sandwich?

Sudan today is no longer merely a “transitional power crisis,” nor simply an “internal conflict,” nor even a “war of generals.” It has become a textbook case of how modern Arab wars are managed: a militia run amok, a state collapsing, a people slaughtered, and wealthy capitals directing the game from afar. In such wars, official statements do not reveal the truth; weapons do. So do supply lines, and the ability of thuggish forces to sustain a brazen war fueled by the blood of a decent people and a nation striving to recover and return to ordinary life.

No militia can endure two or three years of open warfare without external oxygen. It cannot maintain ammunition flows, operate advanced systems, pay salaries, purchase loyalties, or manage smuggling routes unless a wealthy state stands behind it. Here, the name of the United Arab Emirates appears as a constant variable—recurring in every serious file, every substantial investigation, and every international context that treats the Sudan war as one sustained from abroad.

To be clear: the Rapid Support Forces are not merely a politically disputed party. They stand accused of atrocities and mass killings. In Darfur, this is no longer talk of isolated abuses but of a consistent pattern of crimes. Human rights organizations have issued searing reports about the Darfuri city of El Fasher, which fell under RSF control, documenting killings, arson, forced displacement, and the targeting of specific communities—acts that defy description. This is not political rhetoric but documented testimony and recurring patterns that place the RSF squarely in the dock for war crimes and crimes against humanity.

Recent events have added yet another layer of horror. International press reports have described RSF drone attacks that killed hundreds, including children, as well as the targeting of an aid convoy linked to the World Food Programme in North Kordofan. When relief convoys are bombed, the war is no longer against an opponent but against life itself. When children are killed by drones, the term “war” gives way to something closer to “massacre”—distributed across days, neighborhoods, and camps.

The central question, then, is not only who commits the crime, but who grants the capacity to repeat and sustain it.

In May 2025, Amnesty International published a significant investigation into the appearance of advanced Chinese weapons in Sudan—arms that should not be in the hands of a militia in a civil war. The organization reported identifying the weapon types, analyzing munitions remnants, tracing supply and export routes, and concluding that these arms reached Sudan in violation of an embargo, with the UAE linked to the supply chain according to its findings.

This is no minor detail. Advanced weapons do not migrate alone. They do not arrive by coincidence, nor do they settle into the hands of armed groups without transport networks, financing, and protection. Politics may deny; delivered weapons do not lie.

Thus, discussion of the UAE’s role in arming the RSF is no longer media exaggeration but grounded in credible rights investigations and documented supply chains.

Then comes the moment of contradiction: the moment of “donation.” In February 2026, Reuters reported that the UAE pledged $500 million in humanitarian assistance to Sudan at a donors’ conference. On its face, the news appeared humanitarian. Yet the report also reminded readers that the UAE stands accused of supplying arms to the RSF—an allegation it denies.

That detail is telling. Even when the UAE seeks to present itself as a humanitarian donor, the international press no longer separates that image from the weighty accusations of military backing. More precisely, the allegation is no longer marginal or footnoted; it has become part of the headline context whenever the UAE and Sudan appear in the same sentence. Here lies the heart of the matter: aid is not exoneration, but political cover.

In modern geopolitics, a state can cultivate a public reputation for humanitarianism while building influence through harder means in private. It can fund a hospital while being accused of financing rearmament; dispatch an aid plane while allegedly opening a smuggling corridor; speak of “peace” while prolonging war. This pattern is not new in conflict management, but in Sudan’s case it amounts to a double crime: extending the war and adorning it with the veneer of relief.

According to multiple credible international investigations and specialized arms-tracking reports, allegations against the UAE have moved beyond political narrative. They rest on substantial, recurring evidence across more than one source—making them part of any serious explanation for the RSF’s continued war against the Sudanese state and society. The RSF are not merely “a force on the ground” but a machine of terror—and machines require fuel: money, ammunition, weapons, cover, and silence.

For those reluctant to name names, consider simple questions: How did advanced weapons arrive? How did ammunition flows continue? How did the militia sustain recruitment, purchasing, and expansion? How did it preserve operational capacity in a protracted war? Official statements do not answer these questions. Shipping routes do. Munitions tracing does. Weapons inspections do.

The tragedy is that the world knows this—yet behaves as if it does not. Europe watches. The United States issues statements. The United Nations drafts reports. And then nothing. The message received by the RSF is clear: impunity endures, and killing is cost-free.

Sudan is not merely a poor country in need of aid. It is a pivotal state on the Red Sea, bordering Egypt, Libya, Chad, Ethiopia, Eritrea, and South Sudan. Its collapse is no domestic affair. When Sudan falls, regional security trembles; borders become porous, smuggling becomes an economy, migration a tide, extremism an opportunity, and gold a permanent fuel for war. The Sudan conflict is therefore not only a Sudanese tragedy, but an Arab, African, and international one.

Why, then, does the world hesitate to name the UAE’s role? Because the UAE is wealthy. It purchases influence, relationships, and image. In an era of retreating principles, image often outweighs truth. Yet truth does not vanish; it accumulates. Reports of advanced weapons, linkages between aid and allegations, and documentation of drone strikes and civilian targeting are not coincidences but an accumulating chain of facts.

Unless arms-tracking files are opened transparently, unless supply routes are shut down, unless political and legal costs are imposed on those facilitating the war’s continuation, Sudan will continue to be killed slowly. To tell Sudanese citizens, “Take the money and remain silent,” to tell the world, “This is a complex war—stay away,” and to tell victims, “Wait; peace may come,” is not peace. It is war management.

And so we return to the opening metaphor, now stripped of humor and filled with politics: the “first half” is known, the “second half” is known, and the “filling” is known. But the devouring mouth must be named. The article’s title becomes a stark description rather than a flourish: The UAE and the Rapid Support Forces—and between them, Sudan. Between them, a country whose people are killed twice: once by militia weapons, and once by international silence. Between them, a nation that might have been a major Arab power, reduced instead to a political sandwich consumed at leisure—while the world raises banners of humanitarianism and leaves Sudanese citizens to pay the price alone.