El-Fashir: The Crossroads of Geography, Spirit, and Politics

By Abdelaziz Yaqoub

El-Fashir is not just another city scattered across the terrain of Darfur — it is a living heart where sand mingles with blood, history intertwines with memory, and spirit fuses with politics.

It is the city that carried the scent of the sultans, hosted the first council of intellect and authority in the western lands, and has always been a mirror reflecting the very soul of Sudan whenever turmoil engulfs it.

Across its soil passed caravans of pilgrims, scholars, and traders. Within its walls ideas were born, revolutions ignited, and the earth was watered with the precious blood of those who refused to kneel — neither to colonizers nor to tyrants.

I wonder — indeed, I marvel — how after all these intersections of geography, spirit, and politics, there are still those enchanted by the old scripts of hatred.

People who perhaps grew weary of the Islamist experience, or were scorched by the injustices of the Bashir regime, or were deceived by the mirages of hollow liberalism — until their vision blurred, leaving them blind to the full picture.

They claim to have witnessed with their own eyes the renewed atrocities of militias, the displacement and hunger that have haunted our people, the suffering etched into every journey and every exile. Yet, their faces light up with delight at the news that El-Fashir — the city of the Sultan, the sanctuary of history — has fallen into the hands of a faction that has turned chaos into a doctrine and looting into a creed.

El-Fashir, battered by siege for over two years and pummeled by more than 270 artillery and rocket attacks, where warplanes hover like the shadow of death, is reliving the same tragedy that once tore Libya apart.

Some Sudanese leaders — and foreign backers — may delude themselves into thinking they are being “political” when they support the militia, imagining that by balancing power they can force the people and their national army into negotiating with the rebels. They fail to read history, failing to understand that those who sow chaos reap nothing but ruin and ash.

Students of American history know that the United States endured a civil war that lasted five years and claimed more than 600,000 lives. Despite the immense suffering, the state did not compromise its sovereignty; order was restored only after the rebel forces surrendered — without preconditions, without premature reconciliation. There was no blanket amnesty, but trials to ensure justice and lasting stability. That lesson stands as proof: restoring a state demands resolve and firmness, not bargaining with disorder.

You have seen how innocent civilians — my people — were slaughtered unarmed in this century’s tragedy in El-Fashir. The whole world witnessed it, save for those who refused to see.

Do those who chant “No to war” without vision or mechanism truly believe that slogans alone can stop the bleeding of a nation?
Or are they waiting for others to find solutions for us?

If the international community truly heard the cries of mothers, the wails of children, and the blood that perfumes this planet, they would have acted long ago — in Iraq, Afghanistan, Libya, Ukraine, the Central African Republic, and free Palestine.

But they are moved by interests, not empathy.
Therefore, it falls to us — the people of Sudan — to know our own interests, to set aside our divisions, and to reclaim our homeland first.

Let us set aside our disputes and restore Sudan — if we have the reason and reflection to do so. Only then will there be space again for politics, governance, and life itself. For if we fail to unite and grant the army and the state full confidence to reclaim the land and restore security — even if we harbor reservations or alternative visions — we will merely watch a repetition of what befell Gezira, Khartoum, and now El-Fashir.

To all those who think otherwise, I say:

If you believe the militia’s control offers salvation, rest assured — it is a dangerous illusion.
Its behavior is ingrained; its creed unchanging; its nature irredeemable, except perhaps through deep psychological healing.

For it recognizes no homeland except what it can plunder, no authority except what it can seize, and no law except the gun.

And I affirm, with unwavering confidence, that God will grant victory to this proud nation — no matter how some of its sons may falter, no matter how blinded others become by hatred, division, or ignorance.

El-Fashir, which once faced the armies of colonialism and embraced a Sultan who fought until martyrdom, will never bow — neither to militias nor to tyranny.

It shall rise again — a symbol of dignity, resilience, justice, and pride — when the land is cleansed of mercenary gunfire and the people regain their awareness and sovereignty.

And in closing, I send this message to all —
to those entangled in party politics,
to those laboring within the corridors of governance seeking reform,
to those carrying arms in defense of land and honor,
and to those serving in civil institutions devoted to their citizens:

The very existence of Sudan is the first condition for all else.

There is no meaning to political parties if the nation is lost.
No legitimacy to governance if the state collapses.
No role for the army if the homeland itself disappears.
And no purpose to civil service if its great house burns down.

So let us set aside our divisions — and reclaim Sudan first — if we truly reason and reflect.