A Letter to the Prime Minister-Designate, Kamil Idris… This Is What the People Want

By Abdelaziz Yaqoub

Your Excellency the Prime Minister,
No one is asking you for a miracle. The people do not expect you to pull a healed, complete nation from your pocket. All they hope for is to feel—just once—that those who govern them see them, hear their groans, and think like them, not on behalf of them.

They are exhausted by politics that has turned into a marketplace for interests, and by parties that awaken in salons but are absent from the fields of labor and production. Their hearts are burdened by a homeland treated like a private estate, not a map full of wounds and losses. They are tired of long-winded speeches that change nothing, while the streets drown in mud, filth, blood, and betrayal.

The Sudanese people—clearly and simply—want the conflicts to be frozen now. They want the political parties to be silent for a while, to feel ashamed of the people’s suffering and humble themselves until a true government is elected—a government born from the people, not from behind closed doors.

The people want justice that walks the earth, not justice locked behind walls. Justice that protects their dignity in police stations, not one that humiliates them. Justice that watches over them through security institutions, not one that swallows their sons in silence or legitimizes corruption and favoritism.

They want a professional police force that is not for sale, that serves and protects them rather than oppresses them. They want an army as steadfast as a mountain—one that avoids the traps of politics, builds weapons, plants security, contributes to science and knowledge, and supports development and renaissance. They want a disciplined, professional security apparatus that doesn’t abduct people at night, but guards them—and the nation—in broad daylight.

The youth want to be trained, not tamed. They want a chance at hope and life, not scraps for survival. They want real projects—born and run with them and for them, not slogans that die in ministers’ drawers. They want to be employed based on competence, not affiliations or family names. They are exhausted from a homeland that betrays their dreams and from promises that are never fulfilled.

Women want someone to restore their dignity—someone who listens to their pain instead of belittling it. Someone who respects their rights when they knock on the doors of justice and helps heal the damage caused by violence, oppression, and exclusion.
As for the children, their dreams are simple: to sleep without fear, and to go to schools whose walls don’t crumble—and where despair and powerlessness are not taught in the name of discipline.

The Sudanese want respectable institutions:
Schools that offer true knowledge—not just basic literacy.
Universities that produce minds—not the unemployed.
Technical institutes that master skills—not churn out empty certificates.
Hospitals that heal—not worsen the pain.
A clean environment free from the stench of garbage and neglect.
They want not to be humiliated in government offices, nor excluded from projects because they lack connections or affiliations.
They want to feel that the government works for them, not for its own power struggles.

And the Sudanese know, as you do, that the war has torn apart the social fabric, and that the first steps toward healing begin with justice, dialogue, and equality. A nation is not rebuilt by patching up maps—but by mending broken spirits.
They want genuine psychological rehabilitation—for women, for children, for the youth, and for the uniformed forces.
They want us to heal from this fire, not just learn to live with it.

People understand that appointments are not rewards for appeasement—they are a test of intent and a symbol of the new phase. Let your standard be competence, not loyalty. Expertise, not proximity.
Every ministry today is an emergency room—there is no room for favoritism or experimentation.

People simply want to feel that this country belongs to them.

Mr. Prime Minister, you will be held accountable not only for what you do—but also for what you fail to do. For your silence when profiteers speak, and for your fairness when the oppressed are voiceless. For your ability to be a statesman, not just a man of the moment.

The people are not asking for a hero—but for an honest official who feels, listens, humbles himself, and begins with the people and for them—not from lofty towers detached from their pain, their cries, and their lives.

This is what the people want.
Will you do it?