Boulos’s Hypocrisy

As I See

Adel El-Baz

Yesterday, during the open session of the United Nations Security Council convened at the request of the United Kingdom, U.S. envoy Massad Boulos, senior adviser to President Donald Trump on Arab and African affairs, delivered a performance that epitomized political triviality. With remarkable arrogance, he repackaged the same worn-out talking points he has been peddling for months—positions seemingly lifted from the refuse heap of Abu Dhabi’s political posturing—and attempted once more to market them in Africa’s diplomatic corridors and Europe’s policy forums, to little effect.

Today, in February 2026, Boulos continues to play the same role. He promotes the so-called “Quartet” plan—an initiative cloaked in the language of humanitarian peace—insisting on a “civilian government” detached from both “generals” and “extremists,” while advocating selective sanctions against leaders of the Rapid Support Forces alone. Conspicuously absent from his narrative is any acknowledgment of the logistical and financial support the militia reportedly receives from its patrons in the United Arab Emirates.

Boulos recycles the same prescription, this time seasoned with Trump-era rhetoric, and presents it before the Security Council chamber. The reaction was palpable; some delegates reportedly left the hall, apparently unwilling to entertain what many viewed as an increasingly embarrassing diplomatic posture. How, critics ask, can an American envoy so openly echo the positions of an Emirati benefactor on international platforms without hesitation?

In his remarks, Boulos identified three principal actors: the Sudanese Armed Forces, Islamist groups, and civilian political forces.

Regarding the army, he asserted that “there are no good actors in this war,” equating the national military with the militia. He criticized airstrikes conducted in densely populated areas and cited arbitrary detentions, further arguing that both the army and the Rapid Support Forces bear responsibility for prolonging the conflict and deepening the suffering of the Sudanese people—while making no reference to external actors. He also signaled readiness to pursue accountability measures against perpetrators from all sides, implicitly including military leadership, and concluded that “Sudan’s future cannot be decided by generals.”

Such rhetoric, however contentious, was not what troubled me most. What was striking was the statement delivered by Sudan’s representative to the Council, Ambassador Idris Al-Harith, who declared: “We appreciate and follow the efforts of Mr. Massad Boulos, who has remained in contact with the senior leadership.”

Appreciate what, exactly? Which efforts? What tangible achievement? In diplomacy, words matter. A single phrase of commendation can legitimize positions that many on the ground find objectionable. At a time when soldiers are risking their lives, language that appears conciliatory toward those who disparage them inevitably raises difficult questions.

Boulos also directed pointed criticism at Islamist networks, warning that the United States “will not tolerate attempts by Islamic networks linked to the former regime to obstruct the civilian transition.” He pledged accountability for elements allegedly associated with the Muslim Brotherhood operating covertly within state institutions and stressed that dismantling patronage structures and parallel militias is essential to sustainable peace.

In effect, each paragraph of his address contained a clear stance against Islamists, aligning closely with Emirati regional priorities.

Having sidelined the army and denounced Islamist factions, Boulos turned to what he described as the solution: empowering civilian forces. He reiterated support for forming a civilian-led government independent of both military dominance and extremist influence, stating that “the future must be shaped by civilians—doctors, teachers, and young people who led the Revolution.”

Simultaneously, he signaled openness to ceasefire arrangements and negotiations that critics argue could rehabilitate militia leadership politically. Yet, almost in parallel, Sudan’s Sovereign Council chairman, General Abdel Fattah al-Burhan, addressing a crowd in Omdurman following recent military gains, declared unequivocally: “No truce and no negotiations without the militia’s withdrawal from the cities.” The contrast between the two positions was stark.

Boulos further pledged international commitment to rebuilding infrastructure once a “credible civilian framework” is in place—language that has prompted debate over who defines credibility and by what mandate.

Sudan, however, is neither a diplomatic laboratory nor a regional chessboard. A vision that marginalizes its army, categorizes its society, and appears to predetermine its political leadership risks being perceived not as a roadmap to peace, but as a form of guardianship. After more than a thousand days of war and immense human cost, many Sudanese insist that the authority to choose their leaders—and to hold them accountable—belongs to the Sudanese people alone.

Sudan, they argue, is larger than any statement delivered in the Security Council chamber, and stronger than any regional or international tutelage—whether originating in Abu Dhabi, Washington, or the halls of the United Nations.