Reflections on Prime Minister Kamil Idris’s Address to Latin America

By Sabah Al-Makki

From Khartoum to Bogotá, a resounding Sudanese voice carried across the oceans, speaking in eloquent Spanish not just to Colombians but to all the peoples of Latin America—calling on them to stand united against genocide and the mercenary trade bleeding Darfur.

Prime Minister Dr. Kamil Idris chose Sudan’s national television as the platform for his speech. Yet his words were not confined to a Sudanese audience; they transcended borders and continents, landing directly in the hearts of Latin Americans in their own language—unfiltered by the conventions of diplomacy.

This was no accident, but a deliberate choice. By addressing Colombians and other Spanish speakers in their mother tongue, Idris broke through official barriers and spoke directly to the popular conscience. His speech resonated with the rhythm of Sudan’s pain, while carrying a clear call for solidarity and a stern note of warning. It was a message that rose above geography and defied borders.

In his address, Dr. Idris invoked the conscience of Latin America, echoing Colombian voices that had denounced the export of mercenaries to foreign wars. He enriched his speech with symbols of Spanish-speaking culture—Picasso’s defiance, Neruda’s poetry, Márquez’s magic, Vargas Llosa’s torment—before transforming this cultural legacy into a moral appeal: Stand with Sudan. Break the siege of El-Fasher. Stop the trafficking of human beings under the banner of mercenarism.

The speech was lofty in essence, weaving cultural memory with moral urgency. Yet beneath its diplomatic composure lay a sharper cry: to confront the realities of genocide, betrayal, and the commerce of death that desecrates the honor of nations.

El-Fasher: Four Hundred Days Under Siege

El-Fasher has not been besieged for days or weeks, but for more than four hundred consecutive days of starvation and deprivation. Four hundred days of famine and collapse: hospitals gutted, medicine and electricity cut off, children dying because humanitarian corridors were deliberately sealed with chains of iron and fire.

This figure is not a statistic—it is a verdict. It exposes a genocide carried out with calculated patience, methodical precision, and cold intent. It is not incidental, but a policy designed and executed with premeditation.

Today, El-Fasher stands as “a second Gaza” in the heart of Africa—a starved and strangled city in plain view of the world. At the same time, it has become “Africa’s Leningrad”—a symbol of resistance, the stage for a nation’s will to endure against a war machine and a foreign-backed siege that seeks to break its spirit before its body.

Mercenaries, Warlords, and Leaked Documents

The Prime Minister pointed to Colombian mercenaries, though he stopped short of publicly naming those behind their recruitment, arming, and financing. These are not reckless adventurers or stray fighters, but tools in a proxy war charted abroad. Its command center, according to international investigations and leaked intelligence documents, lies in Abu Dhabi.

Among those leaks is an 18-page secret deployment order, written in Spanish and dated December 1, 2024, in El-Fasher. It outlines the tasks of a Colombian unit called the “Desert Wolves Operations Battalion.” The document details the chain of command, rules of engagement, and field objectives—explicitly listing the types of munitions to be used, including white phosphorus, banned internationally when targeting civilians. Its inclusion in official orders was no mistake, but proof of a systematic strategy of extermination.

These documents were reinforced by video footage retrieved from devices of Colombian mercenaries killed in Darfur, showing them fighting alongside the RSF militia. The evidence, in text and image, left no room for denial or distortion.

This chain of proof dismantles every excuse for concealment: Sudan’s war is not an internal civil conflict, but a foreign-orchestrated genocide—funded, managed, and executed from Abu Dhabi through networks of recruitment, smuggling, and mercenary export. Abu Dhabi is no bystander; it is the architect and executor.

Bolívar: The Spirit of Liberation

In evoking Spanish-speaking culture, Dr. Idris overlooked perhaps the most enduring figure in Colombian memory: Simón Bolívar—the Liberator and founder of Gran Colombia.

Bolívar was not merely a general of independence, but the conscience of an entire continent. He taught that freedom is not granted but seized, that dignity cannot exist under bondage, and that sovereignty is the fortress of the future. With sword in hand and vision in heart, he tore down Spanish colonial rule and liberated Colombia, Venezuela, Ecuador, Peru, and Bolivia, engraving the first continental experiment in unity and republican liberty onto history’s map.

What we witness today is a tragic reversal of that legacy: the sons of Bolívar, once torchbearers of freedom, reduced to hired guns in a foreign war—serving rulers in Abu Dhabi. It is nothing less than a desecration of his message and a betrayal of his covenant.

Che Guevara: The Conscience of International Solidarity

Beside Bolívar stands another eternal figure: Ernesto “Che” Guevara.

If Bolívar was the father of independence, Guevara was the conscience of cross-border revolution. He carried his struggle to the Congo and Bolivia, believing that justice is measured not by maps but by humanity.

What bitter irony that young Colombians today are reduced to mercenaries in Sudan—not to defend the oppressed, but to crush them; not to embody solidarity, but to betray it.

Guevara declared: “Wherever there is injustice, that is my homeland.” He never meant that home was wherever the gun could be sold to the highest bidder. He was a fighter for dignity and freedom, not a trader in death. The mercenaries in Darfur are his negation—the gulf between dying for freedom and killing for cash.

The Defilement of Bolívar and Guevara’s Legacy

To invoke Bolívar and Guevara together is to summon the tribunal of history itself. Bolívar embodied continental liberation; Guevara, international solidarity. Together, they represented freedom and fraternity—principles never meant to be divided.

What is unfolding in Darfur is not a passing betrayal of their legacy, but its crude desecration.

Dr. Idris’s Spanish address, despite the restraints of diplomacy, was more than a political message. It was a historical testimony, the voice of a rooted national spirit appealing to human conscience beyond political chambers. But history does not bend to words alone—it demands action. His speech called not only for solidarity but for responsibility: dismantling recruitment networks, prosecuting companies that traffic in human beings as commodities, sanctioning financiers who profit from blood, and opening humanitarian corridors to El-Fasher—a city bleeding under siege for four hundred days.

Sudan today stands in history’s court, summoning Bolívar and Guevara not as distant memories, but as judges of the present. Latin America must decide: stand with their legacy and side with freedom and solidarity, or remain silent—and be remembered as complicit in its desecration at the hands of mercenaries.

The Colombian mercenaries in Darfur are nothing less than a direct defilement of Bolívar and Guevara’s legacy.

The Final Word

To the World:

Do not turn away. Silence is not neutrality—it is collusion masked by cowardice. The world once swore “never again,” yet El-Fasher has languished under siege for over four hundred days, starving, bleeding, exterminated before the unblinking eyes of nations. Silence today is not abstention—it is a license for genocide, permission for death to march unbound.

History will deliver its verdict: it will remember the hands that pulled the trigger, as it will remember the lips sealed in silence, the palaces that looked away, and the powers that weighed profit over human blood.

Let there be no illusion: if this vile trade in flesh and blood is not crushed, if the commerce of mercenaries is left unchecked, those who believe themselves safe are mistaken. The beast you have fed will not remain chained—it will one day turn on its masters.

To the Rulers of Abu Dhabi: Architects of Blood and Merchants of Death

History does not absolve mercenaries, nor the rulers who buy, arm, and unleash them like wolves upon the innocent. Abu Dhabi is not a bystander—it is the engineer, the treasurer of death, the trafficker of blood.

Your stolen gold, your oil dollars, may buy temporary silence, may bribe palaces and perfume your crimes with the cosmetics of diplomacy. But the day will come when the wall of silence shatters, and the poison you poured for others becomes the cup you are forced to drink.

The graves you dug in Darfur are not only for others—they are the graves awaiting you. History shows no mercy. When justice comes, it comes like fire—consuming not only the killers who pulled the trigger, but the hands that armed them, the tongues that excused them, the crowns that sheltered them.

As a Sudanese proverb warns: “O digger of an evil pit, widen it—for you will lie in it.”

One day, Abu Dhabi, you will drink from your own poisoned chalice. As you have sown, so shall you reap. No crown will shield you when the ashes of what you ignited blaze back and consume you first. Such is the law of the universe, and the judgment of history: so it has been, so it is, so it will be.