The silence on Sudan

A wall seems to separate us from the information from Sudan. While the scenes of utter destruction and unimaginable horror, especially in El Fasher, are visible from satellites on top, the occupants of the planet seem largely oblivious. While the stories about conflicts in Ukraine and Gaza make serious headlines in our news, Sudan simply does not. Just to illustrate the point, the distance between Islamabad and Khartoum is 2811 miles, and the distance between Islamabad and Gaza, or Kiev, is essentially similar: 2237 miles and 2423 miles respectively. Yet, from our perspective, Sudan might as well be on another planet altogether.

Among some Pakistani friends and acquaintances I have interacted with, the mood is of apathy. Sudan is yet another place that is prone to conflict, yet another 'African' country where tragedy is endemic. Many have no real interest in knowing that thousands of Pakistanis, up until recently, were still working there, and the University of Khartoum, historically have had Pakistani students and professors teach there. One of the most well-known historians in the country, KK Aziz, taught there for several years. Ignorance aside, but the reason to care for Sudan should not be because of our trade relationship or expat population, it should be based on our commitment to human dignity.

I have been reflecting on: why is Sudan not an issue? Why do the lives of those who were brutally killed in El Fasher, and in towns and villages all across the country, never quite trouble us? Why does the largest forced displacement crisis in the world right now not prick our conscience? Last I checked, there were no serious campaigns to raise funds in Pakistan for those who are grieving and suffering in Sudan. I am yet to see a major rally in the country – by groups on the left or the right – to speak for the Sudanese. I predict most would not be able to tell what is El Fasher and what happened there in late October of this year.

In my mind, there are several reasons – none of them is particularly comforting or reassuring.

First, for some reason, we do not care about communities in Africa. The loud slogans of pan-Islamic solidarity have skin tone exceptions. Some are more equal than others.

Second, we make exceptions based on the nature of the conflict. While to those who are trying to flee and to survive, it may matter less who is bombing, for us it certainly does. If we share the same religion as both warring sides, our reserve of sympathy tends to be qualified, limited and often exhausted quickly. But if one side does not share the same faith as ours, then we have a very different reaction. One wonders, in the era of slogans about which lives matter more, should we also ask which killer should be despised more?

Third, and perhaps the most concerning, is that our choice of sympathy and grief is based on the money trail. In the case of Sudan, the horrors of El Fasher and other places are connected with Rapid Support Forces (RSF), and there is well-documented evidence (by UN and independent observers) that the trail of financial and logistical support of RSF leads to a 'brotherly' country. It is therefore unsurprising that official response from the government and public awareness remain weak, confused and disingenuous when it comes to Sudan. The Sudan scenario is not the only example. Our silence was the loudest voice when it came to the conflict in Yemen, or when a former Prime Minister who takes great pride in reading books from around the world, expressed ignorance when he was asked about the Uyghurs.

My friends from Sudan are grieving and upset. They are grieving for losing their kin, and upset because they are reminded every day that they do not matter. They have every reason to be upset. Upset with us, and so many others, who decry the double standards of others for selective care, racism and politics over people, but act no different in reality.