Sudan’s political fragility rooted in absence of civil service policy to uphold institutional scaffolding (2-2)
By Mohamed Sulieman al-Shazly
Tragically, we have failed to recognise the immense potential within the Sudanese civil service. We squandered what could have been our greatest strength. Worse, we failed to understand its significance as the British did, with their keen foresight. Blinded by shortsightedness, we let this legacy slip away, never fully grasping its importance. Had we known how to manage and nurture what we had been entrusted with, our path could have been drastically different — we could have led with innovation and progress, rather than falling behind.
The British administration in Sudan (1898–1955) recognised the untapped potential of Sudanese civil servants and worked to develop a professional and efficient administrative class. Moving beyond colonial hierarchies, they invested in training and mentorship to prepare Sudanese for leadership roles in governance. This initiative aimed not only to support colonial administration but also to cultivate future leaders capable of managing an independent Sudan.
Through rigorous education, often in British institutions, Sudanese civil servants earned a reputation for competence and professionalism. As Sudan approached independence, the demand for local participation in governance increased, prompting the British to expand Sudanese representation in higher administrative roles. Though British dominance persisted for some time, efforts were made to replace expatriate officials with capable Sudanese counterparts.
Unlike in many other colonies, where direct rule often came with harsh repression, Sudan’s governance by the British Foreign Office, combined with the leadership of graduates from prestigious institutions like Oxford and Cambridge, resulted in a comparatively more cordial form of colonial administration. This approach, led by a class of educated elites from Britain, was marked by a degree of co-operation with local elites and a focus on maintaining stability. It stood in stark contrast to the more aggressive and exploitative tactics employed in places like India. While not without its flaws, this system fostered a different dynamic between coloniser and colonised — one that was arguably less confrontational and more diplomatically inclined.
Sir George Stewart Symes (1882–1962), a colonial administrator of rare foresight, proved instrumental in laying the bureaucratic groundwork for Sudanese self-rule. In 1943, in a move that raised more than a few eyebrows in Whitehall, he merged the seniority lists of British and Sudanese civil servants — an administrative sleight of hand that quietly placed Sudanese officials on equal footing with their imperial overseers. Four years later, a further reform barred non-Sudanese from entering the pensionable civil service, a policy shift that nudged the administration unmistakably towards national hands.
The effects were swift. By 1955, Sudanese held 9,915 civil service positions. That number climbed to 11,521 the following year and to 15,868 in 1957. Within the span of a decade, the colonial bureaucracy had been, for all practical purposes, fully indigenised. From junior clerks to senior administrators, the Sudanese state had acquired a machinery staffed almost entirely by its own citizens.
The handover was not left to chance. In 1946, the Sudanisation Committee was formed to guide the transition. Charged with scrutinising departmental plans and advising the Staff Committee, it ensured that the replacement of expatriates with Sudanese civil servants was neither haphazard nor merely symbolic. It was, rather, a strategic rebalancing — one that underscored a broader movement towards national sovereignty and institutional self-reliance.
British colonial governors frequently praised the Sudanese civil service as “the best in Africa”, often describing it as “second to none”. Such accolades reflected the view that Sudanese administrators excelled in both skill and dedication, setting a benchmark across Africa and the Middle East.
Under British rule, a well-structured civil service became the cornerstone of governance. Drawing on their experience in statecraft, the British implemented an administrative framework that brought order to a vast, diverse land, laying the foundation for Sudan’s development.
When Sudan gained independence in 1956, we did not discard this colonial framework — we adopted it, infused it with our own vision, and sought to make it ours. It may have been foreign in origin, but we filled it with hopes of a nation united by shared service, built on discipline, merit, and the quiet heroism of daily work. Yet the winds do not always favour the ship. Those grand hopes were shattered.
The coup of November 17, 1958, ended Sudan’s fledgling democracy when General Ibrahim Abboud seized power, dissolved parliament, and banned political parties. This marked the beginning of military dominance, ending a vital chapter in Sudan’s history. The coup was significant for Sudan and the continent — Sub-Saharan Africa’s first military coup and Africa’s second after Egypt’s in 1952. It ended the Westminster-style system, paving the way for cycles of coups, uprisings, and fleeting democracies. Although Abboud’s rule had limited effect on the civil service, it shook the nation’s political stability and prospects.
After the irrational cry of leader Ismail al-Azhari, I would say that the first serious crack in the civil service’s façade of neutrality and professionalism came after the October 21, 1964, Revolution, though its impact was limited. A more decisive intervention occurred with Jaafar Nimeiri’s May 25, 1969, coup, which promised to purge reactionary forces — a goal initially fuelled by leftist zeal, later shifting to the right.
The most devastating blow came with Omar al-Bashir’s military coup on June 30, 1989, orchestrated by Hassan al-Turabi of the Islamic Front. Where the left masked its encroachment on institutions as ideological purification, Turabi’s circle called their takeover “empowerment” — a euphemism for the complete restructuring of the civil service. By the 1990s, under Bashir’s regime, the civil service became increasingly politicised, with party loyalty determining appointments. This further eroded its effectiveness.
The 2019 Revolution, driven by a desire for renewal, sought to dismantle this politicisation, intervening under the banner of “disempowerment” — a reclamation of merit and institutional integrity. But that fragile promise was again shattered by the military’s return on October 25, 2021, continuing the cycle of disruption. As of writing, the country faces ongoing civil war, political instability, and economic hardship. Today, there is no viable civil service. It is not merely an administrative apparatus; it is the conscience of the state, the invisible hand that gives form to governance. If Sudan is to rise from its ashes, it must do so not through slogans, but through the quiet, daily work of capable hands and principled minds. In this work — measured, disciplined, and purposeful — the true rebirth of a nation begins.
Those early years remain etched in the national memory — a time when civil servants were esteemed not only for what they did, but for what they represented. Selected through rigorous exams, trained with care, and guided by duty, they carried themselves with distinction. In their dress and their offices, they embodied quiet excellence. Sudanese bureaucrats were counted among the finest in Africa and the Arab world, their counsel sought abroad, their discipline admired at home. They were not mere administrators — they were architects of a national vision rooted in justice, unity, and purpose.
That golden image now lies in fragments. The collapse of education, erosion of institutional norms, and entrenchment of corruption have hollowed out the civil service. Where once young Sudanese were driven by purpose, many today are driven by necessity or wearied by disillusionment. Systems that once rewarded diligence and intellect now reward proximity to power. Training has dwindled, and with it, the culture of excellence has nearly vanished.
This decline is not just bureaucratic — it is a national affliction. The civil service, once a vessel of hope, is now a shadow of its former self. Institutions meant to serve have lost their sense of service. Trust between citizens and the state has frayed. Teachers work without proper training, clerks labour without direction, nurses tend the ill with little support. Their perseverance is noble, but it cannot sustain a system that no longer sustains them.
To rebuild the civil service is to reclaim Sudan’s soul. This requires more than technical fixes — it demands moral clarity and political will. Patronage and loyalty must be dismantled. Institutions must be depoliticised. Recruitment must be merit-based, performance fairly evaluated, and training restored as a cornerstone of reform. Ethics must be re-anchored, with civil servants held to standards worthy of their role as custodians of public trust.
The task is formidable, but not impossible. With inclusive dialogue, strategic vision, and international partnership, Sudan can forge a civil service that is impartial, effective, and trusted. It will take time and perseverance, but the reward — a state that serves its people with dignity — is worth every effort.
True reconstruction begins not with bricks, but with spirit. Sudan’s revival depends not only on rebuilding infrastructure but on restoring integrity, competence, and purpose within the civil service. Those who carry out the quiet work of governance must be equipped, protected, and held accountable. Their commitment must be matched by the state’s commitment to them.
To close, it is important to emphasise that civil service reform in Sudan represents a crucial and necessary step toward the successful implementation of governmental policies. Without a well-functioning and efficient civil service, the plans and aspirations of politicians are bound to remain unfulfilled, ultimately amounting to little more than empty promises. The strength and effectiveness of the civil service form the foundation of any government’s ability to translate vision into reality. Our civil service strategies should prioritise rebuilding the state’s framework on robust, inclusive foundations, equipping it to meet the demands of its public responsibilities.
mohsulieman@gmail.com
