If We Solve the Crane Problem, We’ll Solve Sudan’s Problem
By Abdullah Ali Ibrahim
I still keep a close eye on the “libro-leftists” who struggle to live comfortably and feel distressed in the democracies they spent their lives trying to restore from the clutches of dictatorship in 1958, 1969, and 1989. Whenever traditional or conservative forces win elections, they lose faith in parliamentary democracy both outwardly and inwardly and ultimately destroy it—either through a coup or by taking to the wilderness following a “wilderness army.”
I criticized this aversion to parliamentary democracy in my regular column in Al-Khartoum newspaper between 1978 and 1988. It became clear to me that they had little interest in liberal democracy and were determined to ridicule and abandon it, refusing to use its potential to cultivate a democratic culture—something that a nation does not possess inherently but must nurture through practice. What disturbed me most was their mockery of a labor representative from my hometown, Atbara, whom they described as inarticulate and awkward. To me, it was an unfortunate rejection of a worker simply performing his role as a proletarian, which I found inexcusable and deeply upsetting.
I wrote a piece on this matter and, drawing from my experience with aspects of American democracy, suggested ways to empower representatives like that worker from Atbara, helping them express themselves effectively in parliament. I feared that these bourgeois snobs would spread the notion that only those with university degrees were fit for parliamentary representation, turning the parliament into a gathering of technocratic clerks.
Shifting from politics to policy, Dr. Ahmed Ibrahim Abu Shouk’s discussion on the National Records Office (after the December 2018 revolution) serves as a good example of this transition. He did not focus on the political aspects of its administration under the former regime but rather on recognizing it as the “nation’s memory” despite the attacks it suffered during the Al-Inqaz regime. He highlighted its history, achievements, and the dedicated men and women who served it diligently. He explored its potential not just after the fall of a regime that both served and harmed it in various ways but also in its ability to face modern documentation challenges, increase public and government deposits, and streamline its archival services.
Abu Shouk noted that the National Records Office began in 1948 as the Sudan Archives Office under the Ministry of Interior, later becoming the Central Records Office in 1965 and the National Records Office in 1982. It was initially housed in a confiscated building that once belonged to the late Imam Abdul Rahman Al-Mahdi on Al-Jumhuriya Street, before moving to its purpose-built headquarters around 2005.
I have memories of both its old and new locations. I first visited it in 1966 during my academic research at the University of Khartoum when it was still in the Ministry of Interior, where I met its then-director, the late Mohammed Ibrahim Abu Salim, who remained in that role until his retirement in 1995. I also visited its second location on Al-Sayyid Abdul Rahman Street as a representative of the Khartoum University Student Union during the era of the Abboud government, attending meetings of the National Front, which was hosted by the late Imam Al-Siddiq Al-Mahdi—may mercy be upon his soul.
Dr. Abu Shouk’s article is comprehensive, as he is well-versed in the subject, having worked at the National Records Office before moving on to academia, where he excelled in teaching history based on his deep knowledge of archival practices. I only wish to expand on the idea of broadening the services of the National Records Office to support parliamentarians, similar to how the U.S. Library of Congress provides information services to American lawmakers. It is well known that the U.S. Library of Congress was originally established for this very purpose.
This proposal stems from an experience I had more than thirty years ago. Upon returning from my Ph.D. studies in the United States in 1987, I was fascinated by the Library of Congress, which I visited several times. When I returned to Atbara, I found people ridiculing their parliamentary representative, Ali Mohiuddin, a crane operator at Sudan Railways, criticizing him harshly for his inability to express himself in parliament. The most widely circulated joke about him (whether true or not) was that he once stood up in parliament and declared, “The country’s problem is a crane problem.” Meanwhile, they praised the eloquent parliamentary performance of our comrade, the late Mohammed Ibrahim Nugud, a masterful and articulate speaker.
As a Marxist, I was infuriated by this mockery of a worker simply doing his duty. I defended Ali Mohiuddin’s right to be in parliament regardless of his speaking skills, pointing out that Nugud himself, despite his long political experience, often drew on the resources of his party’s economic, women’s, youth, and cultural offices when preparing his arguments. This led me to mention the U.S. Library of Congress as a model for providing parliamentarians with the necessary information to speak on matters with confidence. I even proposed that each parliamentary representative should have offices both in parliament and their constituency to assist them in researching issues and consulting with constituents. Dr. Ali Abdul Qader, a distinguished economist, supported the idea and even expressed his willingness to volunteer for such a service as a gesture of loyalty to Sudan Railways, where his father once worked.
This idea came to me from another angle as well. I observed how advanced degrees were increasingly being used as a criterion for parliamentary representation. The National Islamic Front was particularly guilty of this, promoting its candidates based on their educational achievements. I feared this would lead people to believe that parliamentary representation was exclusively for degree holders, leaving the common people out of the equation.
As someone from Atbara who grew up in the vibrant culture of trade union democracy and its articulate leaders, I was disgusted by the small bourgeoisie portraying themselves as the sole political authority. When I saw the recent emphasis on academic degrees in the formation of the transitional cabinet, I was reminded once again of the “crane” story. I wondered whether these degree holders—like armed militia members—wanted to monopolize governance. After all, as Shukri Ghali once quoted Mansour Khalid as saying, these degrees are not pure knowledge; they are, in reality, “class birth certificates.”
