The Harvest of the Aggressor State: How the UAE Paid the Price for the War in Sudan

As I See

Adil El-Baz

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Sudan today is not confronting a mere mutinous militia—it is facing a formal act of aggression by the United Arab Emirates, as acknowledged across the world. What has the UAE gained from its assault on Sudan? It has spent tens of billions arming militias, supplying them, and importing mercenaries from across the globe to fight under its banners. It has operated airports and aircraft, built training camps and military bases in Um Jaras, Kufra, South Sudan, Uganda, and Bosaso in Somalia. It has poured billions into corrupt politicians across African organizations, including actual African presidents, and financed armies of media operatives across TV channels and social platforms. It has also embroiled its diplomacy in a distressing, humiliating affair: the transformation of a nation once known for tourism and trade into a state funding mass killing and genocide. This is the distorted image the UAE has drawn of itself in the eyes of the world. It may deny it, but “your denial won’t help you; what you did, you did with your own hands and your own money.”

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Yes, the UAE has done all this and more. But what has it gained so far? Leaving aside its paid mercenary chorus in Ṣumood, the first thing it has gained is the animosity of the Sudanese people—people who long held affection for the UAE and still hold affection for its citizens, who themselves have no say in these policies. Sudan never withheld anything from the UAE, past or present. The newcomers to history forget—or never knew—how Sudanese workers once laid the foundations of a then-unknown state emerging from the desert. They could not have imagined that, one day, the leaders of that very state would be the ones to dismantle what their own people had built.
When the sands once shifted and the winds of the desert storm threatened to topple thrones, it was Sudan—alone among dozens of African and Arab states—whose soldiers rushed to defend them while others stood by in silence. They seem to have forgotten that too.

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How do you turn against a people who helped build your state, shed their blood for you, and fought at your side? How do you sell out such a nation—for mercenaries? And for what? Wealth and resources? The coffers of the newly rich overflow with God’s blessings beneath their feet, yet they show no gratitude.
For influence? For an imperial dream?
Recently, my friend Dr. Mohammed Zain recalled the example of Sparta in 7th-century BCE Greece—a small state that acted like a great power, projecting influence through mercenaries, funding wars, and controlling trade routes and resources—only to collapse. Its story offers an ageless political lesson: every power that builds its influence on greed, fear, and weaponry—rather than legitimacy and balanced relations—ultimately meets the same fate.

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By aligning itself with criminals and perpetrators of genocide, the UAE has earned the hostility of global public opinion. There is hardly a professional, reputable newspaper in the world that has not condemned its actions and its financing of the Dagalo militia. People across continents have demonstrated against the crimes of the militia and its sponsors. Parliaments have echoed condemnations of its interventionist policies aimed at fragmenting states—Libya, Yemen, and Somalia are all precedents.
Its diplomatic missions are now encircled by protests across the globe. Even its own citizens abroad have begun concealing their identity, out of fear and embarrassment before the victims of their leaders’ actions.

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In sports arenas, stadiums have erupted with chants rejecting the UAE’s policies. Artists, celebrities, and football players have voiced solidarity with the Sudanese people and the victims in El Fasher. In short, the UAE has become socially ostracized on the global stage, condemned in official circles, and tarnished in international media and research institutions for sponsoring a criminal, terrorist militia engaged in identity-based massacres.
What an ugly image the UAE has crafted for itself. In all its gleaming cities of glass, it never thought to look at its own reflection—if only it would do so now.

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Yesterday, reports emerged of a potential downturn in the Dubai and Abu Dhabi financial markets. In a recent report titled “The Heavy Political Burden of the Sudan Genocide Case and Its Impact on Investor Confidence,” financial expert Asaad Rajab wrote:
“Dubai and Abu Dhabi’s financial markets have long been seen as solid pillars of economic strength in the region. But today, they stand at a critical crossroads—shaped not only by global interest-rate trends or oil price movements, but by a more complex force: the mounting international pressure and accusations surrounding the UAE’s role in the Sudan conflict and acts of genocide, particularly in Darfur. What was once confined to media reports has now escalated into a full-blown legal and diplomatic confrontation, involving the U.S. State Department, the International Court of Justice, and powerful global lobbying networks. This shifting landscape carries undeniable implications for investor confidence and capital flows—implications no serious investor can ignore.”
Thus ends Asaad’s statement—and woe to the UAE for what it signals.

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Such is the curse carried by the blood of the victims in El Fasher and across Sudan—a deluge now surrounding everything in the UAE, from politics to sports to the arts, marring an image that was once bright. The curse has now reached financial markets and investment landscapes, shaking the very foundations on which the UAE built its authority. Its crowns have slipped; the ground trembles beneath it.
Now it stands uncertain: continue wading endlessly through blood, with no victory in sight, or abandon the militia to its downfall, exposed before the world with no cover?
Today they wander in confusion. History does not favor a state that defies its laws, nor grant strength to those who make fire their method and blood their cause. Just as greater powers collapsed when they built their influence on mercenaries, money, and weapons, Abu Dhabi too will face its moment of reckoning—when wealth, bases, and media campaigns will be of no use.
A moment when the old ledger is opened, and every oppressor is asked about what his hands have done.
Sudan is patient, but it does not forget. History does not forget.
Yet they continue to wander in blindness. And do not think that God is unaware of what the wrongdoers do.