Between Fragmentation and Cohesion: Reconstructing the Human Being in Sudan in a Time of War

Abdelnasser Salam Hamed

War is not merely a struggle over power or territory; it is a revealing moment that reshapes the human being and redefines their relationship with security, belonging, and society.

In Sudan, war is no longer just a military confrontation between rival parties. It has evolved into a complex phenomenon that extends beyond direct combat to affect both the structure of society and the human condition itself. In its current context, war operates not only through military tools, but through a broader system that can be understood as a process of “engineering” that reshapes social behavior, patterns of thought, and priorities in ways that align with the dynamics and continuity of conflict.

Yet this process does not begin with the outbreak of war; rather, war exposes it. It represents a moment of intensification of pre-existing structures, revealing what was latent and accelerating what had been unfolding slowly. Its outcomes thus appear as both an extension of what preceded it and a disclosure of its limits. The importance of this moment lies not only in what has changed, but in what had long existed unnoticed.

This transformation is evident in the reconfiguration of the relationship between the individual and their social environment. In a context where certainty recedes and state institutions erode, what emerges is not merely a vacuum of authority, but a revelation of the nature of its prior presence. Here, reality approaches the conception offered by Thomas Hobbes, who linked the absence of authority to the absence of security and the transformation of survival into humanity’s primary concern. The state that appears absent in wartime was not necessarily sufficiently present in times of peace; rather, its presence was uneven, blending the formal with the fragile.

This shift is not confined to the institutional sphere; it extends deeply into human experience. With the loss of a sense of security, individuals do not merely lose one element of their lives, but the framework within which those elements are organized. Stability declines, the relationship with time becomes disrupted, and the future shifts from a domain of planning into a suspended horizon, while the urgent present imposes itself as the only possible time. In this context, adaptation is no longer a temporary response, but becomes a permanent condition that reshapes both perception and behavior, redefining continuity as survival rather than stability.

Forced displacement stands as one of the most prominent manifestations of this transformation—not merely because it changes place, but because it restructures the relationships upon which society is built. As networks of kinship, neighborhood, and work disintegrate, no true social vacuum emerges; instead, it is reorganized according to a new logic based on direct protection and the exchange of resources.

Across many cities, a recurring scene unfolds: families forced to leave their homes within hours, often without preparation or any clear vision of what lies ahead, begin new lives in the homes of relatives or strangers. There, relationships are reshaped more by necessity than by choice, and belonging shifts from a stable framework into a temporary condition tied to survival. In this regard, one may recall Émile Durkheim’s observation that social cohesion rests not only on laws, but on a network of relationships and mutual dependence—a network that is shaken in wartime and reconstituted in narrower forms.

The effects of war do not stop at social structures; they extend to the reshaping of consciousness and moral sensibility. In a context where violence is repeated, it loses its exceptional character and gradually becomes part of everyday perception. This goes beyond mere habituation; in some cases, reactions to scenes of brutality become marked by indifference, or even a form of reception approaching acceptance—an indication of the profound transformation affecting human sensibility.

Here, one may invoke Michel Foucault’s analysis, which suggests that systems of power operate not only through repression, but through the reshaping of perception and norms. With repetition, violence is not only rejected; it is reinterpreted, and may even be integrated into what is considered normal or understandable within certain contexts.

Within this framework, the question of belonging emerges as a pivotal issue. War does not create primary identities, but reactivates them when the state loses its ability to perform its fundamental function of protection. Thus, the resurgence of tribe or locality does not necessarily reflect a rejection of the nation, but rather the absence of its effective capacity to serve as a protective framework. The issue here is less a conflict of identities than a conflict of functions, as individuals gravitate toward the structure capable of meeting their immediate needs.

Yet war does not produce fragmentation alone; it also generates new forms of cohesion. Social solidarity that emerges in such contexts cannot be understood purely as a moral expression, but as a mechanism through which society reproduces itself in the absence of the state, striving to maintain a minimum level of stability within a shifting reality.

Amid these transformations, not only are relationships redefined, but so too is the very notion of value. In wartime, the criteria of status change: the ability to provide protection, access resources, or manage risk takes precedence over standards associated with stability, reshaping social hierarchies according to a new logic.

At the economic level, this is reinforced by the expansion of the war economy, which functions not merely as a byproduct of conflict, but as a framework that reproduces it. This economy imposes patterns of behavior and dependency that are difficult to dismantle later, allowing war to extend beyond its immediate duration—not merely as an event, but as a structure.

Within such an environment, the Sudanese individual does not experience war as a passing phase, but as a framework that redefines the conditions of existence. War does not only change what people do; it changes what they can be, redrawing the boundaries of possibility within everyday life.

Accordingly, what this war reveals is not only the limits of the state, but the nature of the relationship that existed between it and society. The crisis lies not simply in the collapse of this relationship, but in the fact that it never reached a level of cohesion that would allow it to endure.

Thus, the call for a new social contract should not be understood as a reformist option, but as a condition for the re-foundation of society itself. However, such a re-foundation cannot be achieved through will alone; it requires a profound reordering of the sources of power, legitimacy, and resources, so that national belonging becomes capable of performing a real function, rather than merely a symbolic role.

In this tension between fragmentation and cohesion, what is at stake is not only the future of the state, but the limits of what may remain of the human being itself.