Why Do Islamists Reject the Ceasefire—and What Would They Lose?

As I See

Adel El-Baz

1
The Islamists’ opponents argue that their rejection of a “ceasefire” stems from a desire to return to power — and that the only path back is through war. Therefore, they supposedly support its continuation. That, at least, is how Bakri Al-Jak framed it yesterday in his response to journalist Diaa Al-Din Bilal.

2
I cannot understand how any rational observer might believe that political rivals would willingly hurl themselves into the furnace of a war that could wipe them out entirely — destroying their core strength — simply to return to power without the force required to protect or sustain that return. The “smart” strategy would be for the Islamists to preserve their strength and allow the army and the Rapid Support Forces (RSF) to exhaust each other. Once both sides are depleted, the Islamists’ own forces could devour them. Isn’t that the simplest logic?
But this is koz-phobia — an obsessive fear of the Islamists — which blinds both eyes and hearts.

3
What would Islamists lose if a ceasefire were signed?
Mobilized Islamist volunteers would leave the battlefields, put down their weapons, and return to their studies, jobs, and professions — among them students, engineers, and academics — leaving the state to grapple with its internal and external political battles alone. From the outset, Islamists have declared that they seek no return to power except through elections — a position reaffirmed in their last Shura Council meeting after the political transition. They have repeatedly stated they do not wish to participate in any transitional authority.

4
Let us assume the current government accepts a ceasefire and the Islamists withdraw from the warfront. A civilian government emerges, and — by some miracle — Western powers succeed in installing their “client,” Abdalla Hamdok, as prime minister. What exactly would this unfortunate man do with the Islamists?

He would either
• attempt to uproot them entirely — fulfilling the prophecy of the “Second Message” preacher who vowed to tear them out of Sudan “once and for all”;
or
• accept them as a deeply embedded political force woven into Sudan’s social fabric — a reality impossible to erase.

According to the logic of the UAE’s regional clients, the army is “Islamist,” and the intelligence service is “Islamist.” This means that if Hamdok chose confrontation, he would be facing both military and security institutions — thereby igniting a new war. Yet this is the same man who filled the world with cries of “No to war” while lacking even the faintest means to wage one. He has no RSF guns — for Western powers will never accept a militia accused of genocide as part of a governing authority — nor does he have the whip or the street leverage of the revolution.
If these are the options before the Islamists’ opponents, then what options do the Islamists themselves have?

5
If the transitional authority — formed without them — simply leaves them to operate freely in political space without intimidation, violence, or targeted removal, then the Islamists will likely re-enter the scene by mobilizing their base. They will focus on community engagement, humanitarian work, and reorganizing their structures in preparation for future elections, even if ten years away.
They would gladly leave the burden of governance to their rivals — a heavy load in the extremely delicate and unstable post-war phase — knowing full well these rivals lack even the competence to manage a “water jug.” Their fate would mirror the parties of the December revolution, whose strength evaporated far quicker than they imagined.
Thus, the ceasefire would be an added advantage to the Islamists — on top of whatever gains they believe the war (against the RSF) may have already delivered.

6
But if their rivals decide to settle scores using state power backed by external support, Islamists are unlikely to surrender themselves to bloodshed. They will defend themselves as they know how, bearing in mind they are the most experienced fighters, the most familiar with the machinery of the state, and currently the closest to the public — fighting alongside them and offering some of their best youth as martyrs in the “battles of dignity.”
Whoever chooses to confront such a force is either insane — or foolish.

7
The question of the Islamists’ stance on the ceasefire cannot be separated from a larger question:
Who is capable of bearing the costs of the post-war transition?
Ceasefires are not merely pauses in gunfire; they usher in a new phase in which all actors must reveal their cards:
• Who has a real popular base?
• Who can sustain organizational resilience?
• Who has a vision for a state — not merely a lust for power?

The more the ceasefire looks like a settlement designed to exclude a major political and social force, the greater the likelihood that it will produce a fragile peace on paper — and a smoldering war beneath the ashes.

8
The truth that exclusionists ignore is this:
Islamists — whether one agrees with them or not — are part of Sudan’s social, political, and organizational makeup.
War cannot uproot them.
Decrees cannot erase them.
A fragile transitional government cannot push them out of history.
Political forces are not measured merely by their presence in power, but by their presence in society, their reach within state institutions, their organizational capacity, and their popular depth.
Anyone who doesn’t understand this needs to reassess both their political awareness and their facts.

9
Those who believe war can erase Islamists — and those who imagine a ceasefire will end them — must realize that any project built on hatred and exclusion will only spawn another war. Perhaps even a fractured homeland from which no one emerges victorious.
The ceasefire is not the Islamists’ battle alone; it is a test of Sudan’s entire political consciousness.
Do we want genuine peace — or merely a break before the next war?

10
The Islamists’ rejection of the ceasefire — as proposed by international and regional actors — rests on several arguments expressed in their statements: First: fear for the unity of the country. They believe a ceasefire without dismantling the RSF would result in
• continued state fragmentation,
• the RSF surviving as a parallel force,
• local authorities forming by force of arms,
• and granting political legitimacy to an armed group accused of grave atrocities in Darfur and Khartoum.

Second: fear of the RSF being reintegrated into political life. Any ceasefire imposed before dismantling the militia would allow its return
• to political influence,
• to economic dominance through gold and trade networks,
• and to military presence under the guise of an “internal security force.”
Islamists describe this as an attempt to reintroduce the militia through international settlements.

Third: they view the RSF as a foreign proxy—
“a cat’s paw of external powers used to advance regional and international agendas that undermine Sudan’s sovereignty.”
Any ceasefire that preserves the RSF or grants it special status within the security architecture, they argue, poses a strategic threat equivalent to de facto partition.

11
In truth, these arguments are the same ones the Sudanese state itself has outlined in its official roadmap — and they reflect the beliefs of the Sudanese public and of any patriot opposed to the RSF’s return to political or military life.
This alignment between Islamist rhetoric, state discourse, and public sentiment explains why their messaging resonates widely.

12
Ultimately, the debate over the ceasefire is not about Islamists alone — it is about Sudan’s future.
Will this country return to being a unified state with a single army and cohesive institutions?
Or will it become a marketplace of foreign deals and militias dividing power among themselves?

A ceasefire that preserves the RSF is, knowingly or unknowingly, a ceasefire that preserves the root of the war — regenerating its causes and paving the way for the next round of bloodshed.

Real peace rejects the sharing of power with guns, rejects the existence of a state within a state, and refuses any compromise on Sudan’s unity and the dignity of its people.
Anyone who fails to grasp this will soon discover that a ceasefire is not always a path to salvation — it may well be the shortest road to another war, and to a homeland unlike the one we know.