Sudan's Forgotten War: How Two Generals Plunged Africa Into Catastrophe

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Video originally published on November 17, 2025.

Dead bodies don't trend. That grim reality has become the defining truth of Sudan's civil war, a conflict that has killed an estimated 400,000 people, displaced 12 million, and threatens to tear Africa's third-largest country apart. What began in April 2023 as a power struggle between two military leaders—army chief Abdel Fattah al-Burhan and Rapid Support Forces commander Mohamed Hamdan Dagalo, known as Hemedti—has metastasized into one of the bloodiest conflicts of the decade. Yet despite a death toll rivaling the wars in Ukraine and Tigray, despite credible accusations of genocide, and despite famine confirmed in ten regions with seventeen more at risk, Sudan's agony barely registers in global consciousness. The media covers it sporadically, only when violence spikes or famine looms, then quickly moves on. But buried beneath those fleeting headlines lies a war whose ripple effects could destabilize an entire region, fueled by a web of foreign powers quietly supplying arms, money, and mercenaries through back channels. This is the story of how Sudan imploded, why the world isn't watching, and what the human cost of that indifference truly means.

Key Takeaways

The Sudan civil war erupted in April 2023 when army chief Abdel Fattah al‑Burhan and RSF commander Mohamed Hamdan Dagalo (Hemedti) clashed, sparking a conflict that has killed ~400,000 people and displaced 12 million.
The RSF, once the Janjaweed militia, has become a professional paramilitary force backed by foreign mercenaries and weapons, and it has carried out systematic atrocities—including ethnic massacres and alleged genocide—against civilians in Darfur and beyond.
Regional powers—Chad, Ethiopia, Egypt, the UAE, Libya, Iran, and Russia—have supplied arms, money, and fighters to the warring sides, turning Sudan into a high‑stakes proxy battleground that threatens to destabilize the entire Horn of Africa.
The 2019 revolution that ousted Bashir failed to establish lasting governance; a fragile transitional council collapsed, and by 2023 the SAF and RSF were locked in a full‑scale war with neither side willing to compromise.
The humanitarian crisis is dire: famine is confirmed in 10 regions, 17 more are at risk, and 25 million people require humanitarian assistance; over 12 million have been displaced, infrastructure has collapsed, and the economy has lost more than $26 billion.
The rivalry between al‑Burhan and Hemedti has turned Sudan into a potential split, with each general pursuing a military victory rather than a negotiated settlement, raising the specter of a second civil war.

From Power Struggle to Full-Scale War: The Burhan-Hemedti Rivalry

The siege of El-Fasher in April 2025 offered a window into the depths of Sudan's nightmare. When the BBC smuggled phones into the besieged city, capital of North Darfur state, they captured the moment Hemedti's Rapid Support Forces launched a major offensive reinforced by Colombian mercenaries. The RSF had been trying to capture El-Fasher since January, battering the city with two brutal assaults repelled by the Sudanese Armed Forces and their allies in the Darfur Joint Protection Force. But this time was different. The paramilitaries captured the Zamzam refugee camp fifteen kilometers south of the city, converting it into a military base. In July, they stormed into El-Fasher itself, prompting the Norwegian Refugee Council's advocacy manager to describe the city as a death trap. The August offensive intensified the horror. On the second, with help from allies in the SPLM-N al-Hilu faction, the RSF launched a two-pronged attack. By the twenty-fifth, they had seized the Abu Shouk refugee camp just 2.5 kilometers from the city center, looting homes, displacing residents, and abducting around thirty people. An RSF field commander told the Sudan Tribune his troops planned to capture the army's 6th Infantry Division headquarters. But the paramilitaries weren't relying solely on firepower—they were reshaping the battlefield itself. Yale University's Humanitarian Research Lab uncovered something chilling when examining satellite imagery from mid-2025. Since May, the RSF had constructed more than thirty-one kilometers of berms—earthen walls and raised banks—encircling El-Fasher. According to researchers, these fortifications suggested the RSF was creating a literal kill box around the city, trapping 260,000 people inside with almost no possibility of escape. The implication was horrifying, and entirely consistent with the RSF's pattern of atrocities across Darfur. Since sweeping across the region at the war's outset, the paramilitaries have committed mass murder, kidnapping, enslavement, and sexual torture on a grand scale. At El-Geneina, up to 15,000 may have died in a single massacre—nearly twice the number killed at Srebrenica during the Bosnian War. El-Fasher is hardly unique in Sudan's catalog of horrors. Siege tactics have reduced starving civilians to eating animal feed. In Khartoum, detention centers have been uncovered where hundreds were tortured to death. Entire cities have been sacked and burned, agricultural land destroyed. By May 2024, US special envoy for Sudan Tom Perriello estimated 150,000 had been killed. By summer 2025, that estimate had risen to 400,000, making the Sudan War one of the bloodiest conflicts of the decade. While both sides bear responsibility—the SAF is infamous for indiscriminate bombing of civilian areas—only the RSF stands credibly accused of genocide. Only the RSF is known to have carried out door-to-door ethnic massacres after capturing cities. By autumn 2025, regional analyst Alex De Waal assessed the conflict as locked in strategic stalemate. Each side stakes its hope on a new offensive, a new weapons delivery, a new political alliance, but neither can gain decisive advantage. The battle for El-Fasher appears to tip slowly in the RSF's direction, raising terrifying questions about whether Sudan is doomed to disintegration for the second time in two decades. Understanding how the country reached this point requires stepping back from the immediate carnage to examine the deeper currents that predicted this catastrophe—currents that run through decades of marginalization, militia formation, and the personal ambitions of two men who would rather see Sudan burn than yield power to the other.

From Janjaweed to RSF: The Monster the State Built

The conventional answer to how Sudan arrived at this abyss would begin on April 15, 2023, when the RSF attacked SAF bases across the country. But war is rarely conventional, and stopping there misses the undercurrents of tension that made conflict inevitable. The true origins lie decades earlier, when the RSF was still called the Janjaweed—the devils on horseback. To understand the Janjaweed's roots, one must look not to Sudan but to neighboring Chad, ravaged by protracted civil conflict in the 1980s. In 1980, Muammar Gaddafi intervened to support his ally Goukouni Oueddei, then president of Chad, sending Libyan soldiers and arming Arab nomads in the country's east, right next to Sudan. Khartoum, extremely familiar with how troublesome armed insurgents could be, responded by arming Arabic-speaking nomads from the Rizeiqat and Miseriya tribes as a deterrent. These two groups, despite different motives in their formation, would form the Janjaweed's backbone. Both belonged to the greater Baggara Arabs fraternity of Darfur and Chad, a group that had once controlled vital desert trade routes but whose influence had waned in the post-colonial era, replaced by elites centered around Sudan's Nile valley. The resentment this created toward Khartoum would become a key driver in the RSF's evolution. When Chad's belligerents reached a peace deal in 1987 that stopped Libyan involvement, Sudan simultaneously exploded. Sporadic fighting between the mostly-Christian and Animist south and the Muslim north had escalated into full-blown rebellion in 1983. The renewed fighting gave Arab militias ample room to grow, and Khartoum often turned to them as supplemental forces to fight the Sudan People's Liberation Army, founded to reestablish an autonomous southern Sudan. The SPLA identified as a movement for all oppressed Sudanese citizens, and oppression became an oft-cited reason for groups to fight the central government. Tribes in the periphery felt disconnected from Khartoum and the decisions made by the capital's elites—a feeling that persists today, especially in the west. According to Alex De Waal in a report for the World Peace Foundation, Darfur is Sudan's poorest region. At independence, it had only three hospitals and fewer than six beds per 100,000 people—the lowest ratio in the country and well below levels in Khartoum. By the millennium's turn, Darfur trailed every other state in child survival, nutrition, and basic health services. This neglect wasn't accidental. The government focused on the so-called Hamdi Triangle, a loosely defined area within a day's drive of Khartoum. Named after former Finance Minister Abdel Rahim Hamdi, the triangle absorbed most national investment. Hamdi argued it was an economically viable microstate on its own, and the government could ensure prosperity without worrying about areas far from Khartoum, which Hamdi viewed merely as labor sources for the triangle. The Darfur War, in which the Janjaweed cemented their place in Sudanese history, was sparked by this oppression—specifically allegations from non-Arab tribes that they were victims of intensifying apartheid from the Arab-led Khartoum government. Prominent international legal experts, including Professor Alan Dershowitz and former Canadian Minister of Justice Irwin Cotler, echoed the accusation. According to Julie Flint and Alex De Waal in a report for the UN Secretary General, anger at Khartoum reached a boiling point in July 2001 when two non-Arab tribes, the Zaghawa and Fur, swore oaths to defend their territory. From this pact, one of the decade's most notorious wars was born. A crucial clarification: when discussing ethnic divisions in Sudan, terms like Arab and Black get thrown around, but they don't map onto anything recognizable in the West. Dropped onto a random American street, all sides would be considered Black, while the vast majority are practicing Muslims. In Sudan, divisions have more to do with cultural identity, history, and entrenched power hierarchies than skin color. The distinctions between those identifying as Arab and those identifying as Black emerged after centuries of Arab migration, intermarriage, and slave trade. To be Arab in Sudan means speaking Arabic, practicing Islam, and embracing Arab customs—a cultural identification that became a ladder of social prestige as northern elites distanced themselves from indigenous African practices they viewed as backward. Rebels successfully attacked the army on February 25, 2002, then continued targeting police stations, army outposts, and military convoys. The SAF retaliated with an air campaign against rebel strongholds in the Marrah Mountains, but ground forces inexperienced in desert combat struggled. This became abundantly clear in April 2003 when the Justice and Equality Movement and Sudan Liberation Army attacked the Sudanese air base at El-Fasher. The defeat was staggering: expensive military equipment including Antonov bombers destroyed, the base commander captured, seventy-five killed while rebels lost only nine. Flint and De Waal described this as an unprecedented humiliation for the Sudanese army. Despite decades of armed rebellion, no insurgents had ever dealt Khartoum such a psychological blow. On the back foot, the government shifted to a three-pronged strategy: military intelligence, air force, and deploying Arab militias collectively known as the Janjaweed as the main ground force. The decision wasn't unanimous. General Ibrahim Suleiman, former army chief of staff and then governor of Darfur, warned that racially based mobilization would have terrible repercussions on inter-tribal relations for decades. It took only months to prove him right. While fighting insurgents, the Janjaweed conducted what international observers including Human Rights Watch described as ethnic cleansing. Then-US Secretary of State Colin Powell described the campaign as genocide, though condemnations rang hollow without meaningful action. When asked what Sudan could do to resolve the Janjaweed issue, Powell rather blithely replied that since they turned it on, they could turn it off. During this period, the Janjaweed was led by Musa Hilal, chief of the Mahamid, a Rizeiqat branch. He collaborated with President Omar al-Bashir to formalize the Janjaweed into a paramilitary force called the Border Intelligence Unit. And within this brutal, formalized militia, a new leader emerged who would eventually eclipse his commanders: Mohamed Dagalo, known as Hemedti—Little Mohamed—on account of his baby-faced looks. Hemedti would take that paramilitary force, suborned to Khartoum's elites, and turn it into a vehicle for conquest.

The Rise of Hemedti and the Road to Revolution

Credible information on Hemedti's early years is scarce, but most sources say he descended from a Rizeiqat sub-clan head. He allegedly dropped out of school in third grade, became a camel herder, and only took up arms when men attacked his trade convoy, killing sixty members of his extended family. Despite little formal education, he quickly rose through Janjaweed ranks, capturing President al-Bashir's attention. Hemedti's abilities impressed al-Bashir so much that the president appointed him as de facto enforcer, leaning on him to fight in Darfur and wherever else the regime needed enemies crushed. Al-Bashir was so reliant on Hemedti that he once referred to him as Hamayti—my protector. As a sign of their closeness, Bashir allowed Hemedti to hold onto Darfur's Jebel Amer mountain region gold mines, Sudan's single largest export revenue source, after Hemedti captured it from rebels. The relationship wasn't always rosy. In a portent of things to come, Hemedti led a Janjaweed mutiny against the government in 2007. According to the World Peace Foundation, he led forces into the bush, promising to fight Khartoum until Judgment Day. His troops shot down an army helicopter as Hemedti negotiated with Darfur militias and threatened to storm Nyala, South Darfur's capital—where in 2025, eighteen years later, he would announce formation of a parallel government. Hemedti eventually cut a deal with Khartoum: the government would pay unpaid salaries and compensate the wounded and families of the dead. Hemedti secured promotion to general and a significant cash payment. A documentary shot during this time enshrined Hemedti's cult-like presence among Sudanese. It showed him as more than a military leader but as a charming master negotiator capable of deftly handling parallel negotiations with Darfur rebels and his own government while showing deep concern for his troops. Recruiting both Arabs and non-Arabs further endeared him to the public at a time when divisions were most pronounced. After making peace, Hemedti's troops were folded into the Border Guards headed by Musa Hilal. Hemedti quickly became a rival to his commander and soon received his own legion: the Rapid Support Forces. The RSF was initially constituted to fight the Sudan People's Liberation Army-North, an armed group whose remnants still fight in Sudan's Nuba Mountains. Despite early missteps, the RSF learned crucial lessons that served them well in future fights, most notably the 2015 defeat of JEM at al-Nakhara and Goz Dango. 2015 also marked the RSF's first international excursion. After the March 2015 Saudi-Emirati military intervention in Yemen, Bashir's Chief of Staff Taha El-Hussein made an agreement with Riyadh to deploy Sudanese troops. The operation would be led by, among others, General Abdel Fattah al-Burhan—today the SAF leader, the man Hemedti's RSF currently fights. The troops used in Yemen were mostly RSF fighters loyal to Hemedti, and from a military standpoint they performed well, instrumental in creating a buffer zone along the Saudi border and capturing Hajjah governorate and Midi port, believed to be a Houthi supply port. By 2017, Hemedti controlled not only Sudan's gold mines but also one of the country's best-equipped and trained armed groups. Al-Bashir further rewarded him by passing a law legitimizing the RSF as an independent security force. By doing this, al-Bashir borrowed straight from dictator playbooks: divide and rule. By elevating Hemedti, he deliberately created a parallel power center to counterbalance the regular army. Al-Bashir bet that if the army ever attempted a coup, the RSF would help secure his rule—a bet that would prove spectacularly wrong. While Hemedti nursed his ambition, Sudan dove headfirst into crisis. Omar al-Bashir had ruled since 1989, when he led a coup against elected Prime Minister Sadiq al-Mahdi. His rule faced stiff opposition for what many viewed as heinous human rights violations and oppressive Islamist policies. The public routinely protested, some military figures attempted coups, but these were crushed under al-Bashir's iron fist. One protest running from 2011 to 2013, however, almost brought Sudan to its knees. In July 2011, South Sudan split off to become the world's youngest nation after decades of conflict and a referendum on independence. The key part for today's story is that South Sudan's independence meant Khartoum lost access to a large number of oil fields. The result was sudden income collapse, runaway inflation, and severe lack of dollars to cover essential imports. The cost of living skyrocketed. To address the economic crisis, the Sudanese government announced unpopular austerity measures: taxes raised, civil servants laid off, fuel prices increased. Thousands hit the streets. What started as anti-austerity protests quickly escalated into demands for al-Bashir's resignation, encapsulated by the phrase Ash-shab yurid isqat an-nizam—the people want to bring down the regime. Khartoum responded with batons, teargas, and live bullets, effectively quashing the protests. But while Bashir could beat protesters into compliance, he couldn't make bad economic fundamentals disappear. By 2018, Khartoum had eliminated several subsidies, immediately doubling bread prices across the country. Fatima Ahmed, a local housewife, captured the reaction in an interview with Reuters: The new prices will make us starve to death. The government doesn't care about us. Our conditions are harsh. We won't be able to endure more. It wasn't just bread. Khartoum devalued the Sudanese Pound, leading to wildly fluctuating exchange rates and reduced access to hard cash. Long lines for basic commodities became common sights—incubators of frustration so great it would eventually bring down the regime. The first spark emerged in Atbara in December 2018, and within days fire spread to Port Sudan, Dongola, and finally Khartoum. The government initially tortured protesters into admitting they were members of the Sudan Liberation Movement, hoping to convince the public there was a racial element that would deflate support. These forced confessions did little to douse public anger. In 2019, the dictator declared a yearlong state of emergency, dissolved central and regional governments, replaced regional leaders with military officers, appointed Mohamed Tahir Ayala as prime minister and Defence Minister General Awad Ibn Auf as first vice-president. As a final act of defiance, he banned unauthorized demonstrations—a move that predictably led to even more demonstrations. On April 6, the Sudanese Professionals' Association called for a march to armed forces headquarters, answered by hundreds of thousands, some bringing mattresses. The sheer scale dwarfed 2011 protests. This was a tidal wave of ill-feeling about to crash down on one man. Bashir's National Intelligence and Security Service fired live rounds at protesters, but then the army allowed demonstrators into its headquarters before opening fire on the NISS. The countdown to the dictatorship's end had officially begun. The timer reached zero on Thursday, April 11, 2019. General Awad Ibn Auf announced al-Bashir had been moved to a safe place following the regime's collapse. In the same breath, he announced he would helm a military-led transitional government, imposed a three-month state of emergency, suspended Sudan's 2005 constitution, and closed the nation's airspace for twenty-four hours. For protesters, this was like learning your arsehole boss has been fired but his replacement will be his equally arsehole-y identical twin. Amid rising public anger, Ibn Auf resigned, choosing the army's inspector-general as his successor: Abdel Fattah al-Burhan. At the time, protesters were jubilant. After all, it's not as if al-Burhan seemed like the sort who might soon help plunge their nation into apocalyptic war.

The Revolution Betrayed: From Hope to Coup

Despite not being a cult-like figure like Hemedti, al-Burhan had built a name within the army as a competent officer across a decades-long career. Protesters liked him because he was one of the military leaders who reached out during the sit-in. Additionally—and this was a really big deal among Sudanese military men—he hadn't been implicated in war crimes and wasn't wanted by international courts. Al-Burhan went from well-respected but relatively unknown military man to the guy at Sudan's helm basically overnight. Amid the revolution's chaos, al-Burhan wasn't the only one rising. Weeks before al-Bashir's ouster, Hemedti endeared himself to the public by refusing a presidential order to shoot protesters. Then, when the endgame came, the RSF—elevated by al-Bashir precisely to protect him from military coups—stepped aside and allowed the generals to do their thing. This, alongside the RSF's strength, earned Hemedti a place in the Transitional Military Council as al-Burhan's number two. However, according to Washington Post foreign affairs columnist Ishaan Tharoor, Hemedti was the TMC's de facto leader. Days following al-Burhan's ascension were marked by significant wins for protesters. On the thirteenth, al-Burhan announced release of all political protesters and an end to curfew. On the fourteenth, the TMC announced steps toward civilian rule including selection of a civilian prime minister by protesters. On the fifteenth, Dr. Mohamed Nagi Alassam, one of the most well-known demonstrators, proclaimed that trust between protesters and military was deepening. For the first time in a long time, Sudan's future looked bright. But while talks about the new government's structure were ongoing, protesters were still staging a sit-in outside army headquarters under the Forces of Freedom and Change banner. By late May, the Professionals' Association began ringing alarm bells, warning the TMC was planning a lethal attack to end the sit-in. On Monday, June 3, the eve of Ramadan's final day, the inevitable happened. Before dawn, the TMC's armed wing—composed of SAF soldiers, RSF, NISS, and police—surrounded the sit-in area. Police initially tried to move a barrier, but when protesters resisted, soldiers opened fire. Human Rights Watch reported soldiers assaulted demonstrators, set fire to tents, and committed unspeakable sexual violence. Reports later emerged of militia forces dumping bodies in the Nile. Most estimates put the death toll over one hundred. Yousra Elbagir, Africa correspondent at Sky News, captured the shock, writing on X: Everyone feels broken and dejected. You can see it on their faces—on the bus, in the streets. The revolution was stolen from the people. Those in Khartoum aren't just mourning lives lost, but the loss of a space that became the revolution's heart. To its credit, the international community tried to intervene. The African Union suspended Sudan's membership, while other nations piled on pressure. Before long, the TMC agreed to a new deal with the FFC to develop a new transitional structure. The key part was establishment of an eleven-member Transitional Sovereignty Council comprised of five civilians chosen by the FFC, five military officials selected by the TMC, and one civilian mutually agreed upon. Both al-Burhan and Hemedti secured positions, with al-Burhan as chair and Hemedti as deputy. The transition was planned to last thirty-nine months, with the military ruling the first twenty-one months and civilians the final eighteen. The handover to civilian rule was expected in November 2021. Under the TSC, Sudan made significant democratic gains: Christian minority rights improved, the press had greater freedom, and al-Bashir's surveillance infrastructure was dismantled. However, this would all end with perhaps the least surprising twist in geopolitical history: the military coup that would make Hemedti and al-Burhan Sudan's undisputed rulers. Despite democratic gains, there was always an undercurrent of tension among TSC members. At its core, it was a marriage of convenience built upon distrust with a side of barely-hidden animosity—a household so dysfunctional everyone knew divorce was inevitable. The only question was when. The first attempt to dissolve this awkward partnership happened in September 2021, when soldiers loyal to al-Bashir attempted a coup. Although it failed, no one thought it would be the last. Tensions in the TSC grew. The army began demanding changes to the FFC coalition and cabinet reformation. The civilian leadership viewed this as a naked power grab. Then came the protests. On October 16, pro-military demonstrators took to the streets chanting down with the hunger government, calling for al-Burhan to seize power. One protester told AFP they were protesting because the current government had failed to bring justice and equality. Unlike previous demonstrations, protesters reached the presidential palace gates with little resistance from conspicuously absent police and security agents. Despite relatively small numbers, demonstrators raised fair points. Sudan was still gripped by ruinous economic crisis making it difficult to afford essentials. And the government had done little to hold perpetrators of the army headquarters massacre accountable. The feeling that the revolution had been stolen was palpable. However, most of Sudan preferred a civilian solution. They came out in hundreds of thousands on October 21 to protest against military rule. The date was historic—fifty-seven years prior, Sudanese had overthrown another military regime and established constitutional government. Channeling that history, protesters called on al-Burhan to resign and for the military to hand over power to civilians. This country is ours, and our government is civilian, one chant said. The military's response was a haha, nope spelled out with live bullets and teargas. While demonstrations were ongoing, Prime Minister Abdalla Hamdok announced he was speaking to all sides to find a solution. But few sides were listening. On October 25, a mere six days before civilians were to take over the TSC, the military arrested five senior government figures and announced they had taken over. That same day, al-Burhan announced a state of emergency and formation of a new technocratic government that would lead Sudan until elections in July 2023. This government would include figures from the National Congress Party, a political outfit that had propped up al-Bashir's regime for decades. Al-Burhan would later deny he led a coup. He insisted what he did was necessary to avoid civil war because politicians were inciting the public against the military. He portrayed himself as a man with few options who had done what he thought was right. It was a portrayal echoed by Hemedti in an Al Jazeera interview: What happened on October 25 was the ultimate outcome of a long process. Many discussions were made, and many initiatives proposed. We were left with three options, the best of which was the move we took, and it was completely agreeable to the prime minister himself. We did not make such a move on our own. But if it walks like a coup, swims like a coup, and seizes power from civilian officials like a coup, then it's a coup. Come November 2021, there would be no handover of power to civilians. Alex De Waal believes al-Burhan and Hemedti might have been motivated more by self-interest than genuine fear of civil war. Writing for the BBC, he pointed to the fact both generals wanted al-Bashir tried in Sudan instead of the ICC, fearing he would implicate them in alleged war crimes. This placed them at odds with civilian TSC members who preferred an ICC trial. De Waal also believed the generals feared investigation into the Khartoum massacre would hold them accountable. Finally, he argued the military wanted to protect its vast commercial empire, including several tax-exempt companies, from civilian oversight. Prime Minister Hamdok had become increasingly critical of the army's economic entanglement and ever-increasing budget share, and the belief was a fully civilian government would limit this. No one in Sudan needed analysts to tell them a coup had just gone down. Sudanese took to the streets once again in another doomed bid to stop things from going horribly wrong. The security forces launched an all-out campaign of violence. The African Union, which had reinstated Sudan, once again suspended its membership. The US, EU, IMF, and World Bank froze millions earmarked for aid. The coup was also unpopular among traditional international partners Saudi Arabia, the UAE, and Russia. The International Crisis Group described a sense of surprise in Khartoum to the fierceness of resistance both at home and internationally. Hemedti, sensing the tide turning against the military, began distancing himself from al-Burhan. Their relationship was already strained after appointment of al-Bashir era officials to important posts, suggesting to Hemedti that al-Burhan sought to entrench the supremacy of Khartoum's traditional ruling class—the same elites that had long looked down on the tribes Hemedti was proudly part of. The aid freeze left Sudan in dire straits. The economy could barely be said to be shambling along, and people could feel it in their empty wallets and the hunger gnawing at their bellies. Hemedti tried to align himself with the public, presenting himself as a reformer and negotiating with protest leaders. This caused the rift between the two generals to grow wider, transforming from a fjord into something the size of the Grand Canyon. Hemedti was counting on one key fact: regardless of how much protesters distrusted the RSF, many viewed the army as their historical enemy—a feeling that only grew stronger after appointment of al-Bashir era loyalists. And this would become the defining feature of Sudan's final months of peace: a constantly widening rift between two men with the ego and military forces to believe they might one day become sole ruler.

The Dam Bursts: From Stalemate to All-Out War

At this point, some may wonder why this wasn't all over the news in spring 2023, so obvious does it seem in retrospect that Hemedti and al-Burhan were gearing up for military showdown. Maybe the wider world was too distracted by the war in Ukraine. Maybe the feelgood vibes of the 2019 revolution were still so fresh that journalists preferred to believe some solution would be found. But the fact is that cracks were obvious the moment talks began. There was the signing of a December 2022 framework aimed at restoring Sudan to civilian rule. Hemedti championed the deal because of clauses he believed would give him autonomy from al-Burhan and the army. One clause recognized the RSF as a regular entity affiliated with armed forces but under direct command of a civilian head of state, rather than the army chief. Conversely, al-Burhan only signed because of significant external pressure, feeling it unfairly benefited Hemedti. Then there was the spike in tensions in February and early March 2023 after intense competition between RSF and SAF to recruit new talent throughout Sudan, particularly in Hemedti's Darfur stronghold. At the same time, rumors spread that the SAF was courting Musa Hilal, former Janjaweed leader and Hemedti's longtime rival, as a way to make inroads into Hemedti's Rizeiqat ethnic group and weaken his support base. Hemedti responded by initiating rapid military buildup in Khartoum, which the SAF matched, until an March 11 agreement between the generals led to de-escalation. Hemedti withdrew forces from greater Khartoum, and the generals agreed to form a new joint security committee. Sudan allowed itself a moment of calm, clearly thinking it had dodged civil war. Both sides started sliding back toward conflict. The catalyst? Negotiations to finally form a civilian government. For much of the negotiations, it was civilians on one side and the military as a single entity on the other. However, one thorny issue—security sector reform—pitted Hemedti against al-Burhan. The two generals specifically disagreed on the timetable for integrating the RSF into the army and how this combined force would be led. Hemedti and his civilian allies favored a ten-year integration timeline, while the SAF wanted integration in two years—for the obvious reason that al-Burhan didn't want to give Hemedti time to entrench his power base. As frustrations mounted, Hemedti accused al-Burhan of breaking his word because of pressure from other SAF generals. Across Sudan, an uneasy silence settled in. The SAF and RSF were gathering men and machines, and any fool could see what was about to happen. On April 13, RSF soldiers deployed near an airbase in the town of Meroe. The SAF responded by accusing the RSF of unauthorized movements and giving them an ultimatum to stand down. The RSF refused. And so we return to the date history books will record as the start of the latest iteration of the Sudan Civil War: April 15, 2023. For a few horrible days, the world was rapt, watching as violence engulfed Sudan. Watching as fighter jets bombed Khartoum—a city that had survived most of Sudan's previous conflicts unscathed. Watching as government buildings went up in flames, as foreign powers evacuated their citizens, and as the third great war of the 2020s—after Tigray and Ukraine—finally got underway. Because both sides had troops throughout the country, fighting broke out everywhere almost all at once, with Khartoum and Darfur hardest hit. Khartoum in particular suffered heavily because sustained urban warfare in the city was unprecedented. The two generals were shelling university campuses, besieging hospitals, and bombing government buildings. The SAF's army headquarters were encircled, and al-Burhan himself trapped inside for three months before escaping to Port Sudan far away on the Red Sea coast. Reports differ on how al-Burhan escaped Khartoum. The RSF claimed they let him leave after an international agreement was reached, a claim repeated by FFC members. Al-Burhan denies these claims. He alleged he was rescued in a daring military operation that included naval and air forces, resulted in the death of two SAF soldiers, and probably included him posing shirtless atop a helicopter as it flew off into the sunset. While all but a handful of army bases in Khartoum were falling to the RSF, the paramilitaries were likewise running unchecked across Darfur. That summer, they seized El-Geneina, ushering in one of the first great atrocities of a war that would soon be defined by them. According to videos reviewed by the Sudan War Monitor, civilians were rounded up based on ethnicity and whipped, with primary victims being those of the Masalit tribe. Reports later emerged of a massacre in the Geneina neighborhood of Ardamata, where according to Le Monde, at least 10,000 people died. By autumn, SAF morale in the region had crumbled—shaken by multiple defeats and acute shortages due to RSF-imposed sieges. In these months, the paramilitaries managed to capture Nyala, Sudan's fourth largest city and home to the SAF's 16th Infantry Division headquarters, and Zalingei, capital of Central Darfur and home to another SAF Infantry Division. When the latter heard the RSF was on their way, they fled, letting the paramilitaries take the city without firing a single shot. Although war is always hell for civilians, Sudan's factions seemed to go out of their way to punish bystanders. Prior to the RSF massacre, the SAF shelled ethnically Arab neighborhoods in El-Geneina, killing hundreds. Yet even the army couldn't compare to the paramilitaries. Where al-Burhan's goons might fire into civilian areas without care, the RSF would conduct door-to-door massacres based on ethnicity. Where the military might summarily execute those suspected of collaboration, the RSF would carry out mass rape and enslavement of women and girls. Among their known victims—detailed this year in a harrowing UN report—have been children as young as one year old. Anthony Blinken, former US Secretary of State, described the RSF's actions as genocide. In a statement toward the end of his time in office, he said: The RSF and allied militias have systematically murdered men and boys—even infants—on an ethnic basis, and deliberately targeted women and girls from certain ethnic groups for rape and other forms of brutal sexual violence. Based on this information, I have now concluded that members of the RSF and allied militias have committed genocide in Sudan. To be clear, this does not make the SAF angels. The military has been accused by Amnesty International and other global organizations of war crimes. Aside from shelling civilians, they also blockaded entire regions, triggering levels of hunger on a par with the Ethiopian famine of the 1980s.

Alliances and Atrocities: The War Spreads to the Periphery

At the conflict's start, it was clear to both RSF and SAF leadership that neither side could win alone. This became especially apparent when al-Burhan was trapped in Khartoum and couldn't effectively command his troops. It was crucial to find allies, and do it fast. Both groups turned to rebel movements that had fought against Khartoum, trying to present themselves as the better alternative. The most notable was the Sudan People's Liberation Movement–North. Active in Blue Nile and Kordofan states, the SPLM-N is an armed group composed of former SPLA members left in Sudan following South Sudan's independence. In 2017, the group split into two factions: one led by Abdelaziz al-Hilu and the other by Malik Agar. That split would resurface, shaping who each leader decided to ally with. Malik Agar chose to ally with al-Burhan, who rewarded him with the role of deputy head of the TSC, a position previously held by Hemedti. In this role, he would act as de facto head of government while al-Burhan was trapped in Khartoum. Abdelaziz, on the other hand, threw his lot in with Hemedti. Regional observers feared involving the SPLM-N factions risked dragging the south into war. Their worst fears were realized when, in June 2023, SPLM-N al-Hilu began attacking and capturing undermanned and abandoned SAF garrisons in South Kordofan State. By June, they were attacking SAF compounds in the state capital, Kadugli. From August to September, they laid siege to the city, killing hundreds and forcing thousands to flee. Before the war, South Kordofan, one of Sudan's poorest states, was already experiencing food insecurity. The fighting only made it worse—a reality replicated throughout all of Sudan. Wherever the war spread, it seemed to overwhelmingly bring one of the four horsemen in its wake: Famine. As of autumn 2025, hunger in the country has reached catastrophic levels, with famine confirmed in ten areas and seventeen more at risk. In some areas, the World Food Programme is all that stands between people and starvation. Here's how the WFP describes the situation: Sudan risks becoming the world's largest hunger crisis in recent history as conflict continues to rage, destroying livelihoods, infrastructure, trade routes and supply chains. A protracted famine is taking hold—the only place in the world at this level of hunger—and without humanitarian assistance, hundreds of thousands could die. The cause of this growing humanitarian crisis? Armed groups restricting access to aid for entire regions held by their opponents—a tactic already taking root in 2023. And as the war grew in intensity, so too did the number of armed factions. Before long, Hemedti would count among his allies the Sudan Liberation Movement-Transitional Council, the Sudan Liberation Gathering, and the Third Front. Al-Burhan wound up relying on Islamist groups such as the El Baraa Ibn Malik Brigade, the Islamist Movement, and the Sudanese Popular Resistance Factions. Beyond the Islamists, al-Burhan also secured crucial support from Darfuri ethnic militias who, fed up with the RSF genociding their people, threw their weight behind the SAF. The alliances seem to have paid off to varying degrees. For al-Burhan, he secured critical help in retaking the capital—a spectacular campaign that began in September 2024 and culminated with the SAF marching triumphant through Khartoum's ruined streets some eight months later. Meanwhile, Hemedti's allies have further boosted the legitimacy of the parallel government the RSF declared in summer 2025. However, they both have challenges. Several experts believe al-Burhan's alliance with Islamists is one of convenience, not conviction. Therefore, the two sides could very well be belligerents in the next phase of this never-ending war. For Hemedti, the question is simpler: Will his alliance hold in the wake of increasing SAF victories? It's an important question, especially in light of reports that soldiers who defected from the RSF were instrumental in the SAF's drive to Khartoum. What can be said with confidence, given the benefit of history, is that alliances in Sudan last only as long as they need to. Once they outlive their usefulness, they are discarded—often violently. And speaking of violent alliances, now seems the perfect time to discuss the other major factor in Sudan's war: the web of outside actors all conspiring to make the fighting a thousand times worse.

The Shadow War: External Powers and the Proxy Conflict

When Crisis Group reported on the civil war's start, they urged regional players including Chad, Ethiopia, and Egypt not to get involved with either side but rather push for peace. According to Dr. John Mbaku, a professor at Weber State University, more than ten countries across Africa, the Middle East, and Asia have been drawn into the Sudan war, turning it into a gigantic proxy conflict. While most countries deny their involvement, each has a strategic interest in Sudan. Ethiopia has leaned toward supporting the RSF in part because of shared ties with the United Arab Emirates, one of the paramilitaries' key backers. Conversely, opposition groups hostile to Addis Ababa have looked more favorably on the SAF, seeing them as a counterweight to the RSF–UAE–Ethiopia alignment. Despite this, Giorgio Musso, a researcher at Roma Tre University, argues there is little immediate risk of Sudan's war spilling over into Ethiopia. The SAF would be unwilling to push its allies into a proxy war because it would incur Addis Ababa's wrath. A military reprisal from Ethiopia would open up a new front for the SAF, spreading its forces too thin. For Egypt, the war demands a delicate approach. Officially, Cairo is neutral. However, it has longstanding ties with the SAF, which it views as the institutional backbone of Sudan and a stabilizing force against the RSF. Egypt and the SAF have such deep ties that, according to analyst Kholood Khair, Egypt was influencing key military decisions. Additionally, the Wall Street Journal reported that Egypt was supplying the SAF with Turkish-made Bayraktar TB2 drones and training on how to use them. Egypt's western neighbor Libya has also been sucked into this war. Khalifa Haftar, arguably the most powerful man in Libya today, has close personal ties with Hemedti. However, Sami Hamdi, editor-in-chief of the geopolitics-focused outlet International Interest, believes it is their shared ties to the UAE more than any personal relationship that underpins the partnership between Libya and the RSF. Quoting him: As firm allies of the UAE and as key moving parts of UAE foreign policy, a network has been facilitated in which Haftar has helped train Hemedti's forces, used soldiers from Hemedti to bolster his position in Libya, and established and benefitted from illicit trade routes that have been facilitated by Hemedti. Apart from military support, Libya has been an instrumental part of the RSF's fuel supply chain. S&P Global alleges that Libya regularly imports Russian oil through Turkish middlemen before it is smuggled out of the country's porous borders into Sudan for the RSF. The RSF either uses this oil for its own needs or resells it, generating billions of dollars in profit to fuel the war. This money has been essential for the RSF as it has allowed hiring an army of mercenaries from all over the world. The Colombian mercenaries aren't the only ones. According to Al Jazeera, the RSF has hired fighters from Chad, the Central African Republic, Libya, and Niger, paying them around $1,650–$3,300 for six months of service—one hell of a bung in a region where large swathes of the population live on less than $2 a day. While some fighters are undoubtedly motivated by money, there are those driven by ethnic ties to Hemedti and the RSF. These ties extend beyond borders and have given Hemedti ready-made pools of fighting-age men to pull from. Then there's the UAE, which, while maintaining official neutrality, has emerged as the RSF's most significant supporter. The UAE's involvement appears driven by both economic interests and political strategy. On the economic front, Sudanese researcher Hamid Khalafallah told the Guardian that the UAE is interested in natural resources it lacks, including arable land and minerals like gold. Hemedti still controls a large swath of Sudan's gold mines, making him a valuable ally. On the political front, Federico Donelli, a professor of international relations at Italy's University of Trieste, told the Guardian that the UAE is supporting the RSF to counter Saudi influence in Sudan and prevent the spread of political Islam, which it sees as a threat to its security. Iran and Sudan have a complicated relationship. For nearly thirty years, they enjoyed close ties, with Sudan even being Iran's closest ally in Africa. However, in 2014, because of fears that growing Iranian influence threatened the Sunni majority, Sudan expelled Iranian diplomats and officially cut off relations with Tehran two years later. The Sudan war would bring these old allies back together. According to Reuters, by late 2023, an Iranian cargo plane made six trips from Iran to Port Sudan. While Reuters couldn't confirm the cargo, the RSF alleged the army was receiving deliveries of Iranian drones such as the Mohajer-4, Mohajer-6, and Ababil. Soon after, drones were spotted over Sudan's skies, and analysts credit their surveillance and strike capability with helping the SAF repel RSF advances and retake key sites. For an army badly outmaneuvered in the war's early months, Iranian hardware provided a much-needed technological equalizer. Apart from weapon shipments, observers say Iran has helped the SAF recruit and train new soldiers. Tehran wasn't doing this out of altruism. According to the African Defense Forum, establishing a presence in Sudan is crucial for Iran because it would allow boxing in regional opponents including Saudi Arabia and Israel and threaten shipping through the Suez Canal. Regional analyst Abdal Monim Himmat wrote that Iran considers Sudan a starting point toward achieving long-term strategic gains in terms of expansion in Africa, control of the Red Sea, and wider regional influence. By allying with the SAF, Tehran gets to undercut the UAE and reassert itself in a country it lost to Gulf influence years ago. Then there's Iran's longtime ally Russia, whose allegiances in the war have seesawed back and forth depending on who appears to be winning. Initially Moscow, through the Wagner Group, threw its weight behind Hemedti. Wagner had been active in Sudan since al-Bashir's days, and when the dictator was ousted, Prigozhin tried to align himself with al-Burhan. When this failed, he allied with Hemedti. According to Samuel Ramadi, author of the book Russia in Africa, the partnership was primarily aimed at creating a smuggling route for Sudanese gold so proceeds could fund Wagner Group operations inside Ukraine. The gold smuggling operation also provided much-needed revenue for the RSF. However, after Prigozhin's death and the absorption of the Wagner Group into broader Russian forces, the Kremlin began to value Sudan more for its coastline than its gold mines. For years Moscow has tried to establish a naval presence in the Horn of Africa, specifically Port Sudan. Natalia Tsamalashvili, a researcher at the HORN International Institute for Strategic Studies, believes control over this port would allow Russia to monitor key ocean trade routes, counter the influence of Western nations and their Gulf allies, and if necessary, disrupt Red Sea traffic. Tsamalashvili further argues that compared to Russia's naval base in Syria, where operational difficulties persist, Port Sudan provides a safer and more strategically located option for extending influence into Africa and the Middle East. Beyond its military value, the facility could serve as an intelligence center, strengthening Moscow's capacity to track regional trade and defense movement. So when the SAF agreed to give Moscow the port in early 2025 in exchange for military aid, it was almost a no-brainer for the Kremlin to abandon the RSF for the SAF.

The Regional Dimension: Chad's Struggle with Neutrality, Refugee Influx, and Weapon Smuggling

Chad's position in the Sudan conflict illustrates the impossible choices facing neighboring states. While officially claiming neutrality, Chad has found itself accused by the Sudanese Armed Forces of serving as a transit hub for weapons flowing from the United Arab Emirates to the RSF. Though Chadian authorities denied these allegations, independent verification by media outlets and the United Nations confirmed that weapons were indeed reaching the RSF through Chadian territory from the UAE. The mechanism of this weapons pipeline reveals the sophistication of external intervention in the conflict. The UAE constructed what was ostensibly a hospital in Eastern Chad, presented to the world as a humanitarian facility providing free medical services to Chadian citizens and Sudanese refugees. In reality, according to multiple sources, this facility served as a cover for military activities and weapons smuggling operations—a pattern the UAE would later replicate elsewhere in the region. Beyond its unwilling role in the arms trade, Chad faces an overwhelming humanitarian crisis from the war next door. The United Nations estimates that over a million refugees have fled to Chad since the beginning of the conflict, representing one of the largest and fastest population movements in recent African history. Charles Bouëssel, an analyst at Crisis Group, notes that this influx has placed immense strain on Chad's isolated and already impoverished eastern provinces. Ouaddaï province exemplifies the scale of the challenge: its population increased by 60 percent in just two years. This demographic shock has created cascading effects throughout eastern Chad. The surge in population has driven up demand for housing and basic staples such as cooking oil, with prices rising beyond the reach of many locals. Disputes have occasionally flared up between long-time residents and newcomers competing for scarce resources in regions that were struggling even before the refugee crisis. For Chad—itself one of the world's poorest nations—absorbing a refugee population equivalent to roughly 6 percent of its total population represents a burden that would challenge far wealthier states. The crisis underscores how Sudan's collapse is not merely a national tragedy but a regional catastrophe that threatens to destabilize an already fragile Sahel.

South Sudan: Oil Dependency, Fragile Peace, and Cross-Border Entanglements

South Sudan's entanglement in the Sudan conflict reveals how deeply interconnected the two nations remain despite their 2011 separation. The South Sudanese government relies heavily on oil revenue to fund its operations and, as a landlocked country, depends entirely on a pipeline passing through Sudan to export that oil to international markets. When this pipeline broke during the fighting, panic gripped Juba. Overnight, South Sudan lost its only oil export route, and the country was starved of fuel for transport, electricity, and basic services. Though the pipeline was eventually repaired, the incident exposed not only South Sudan's dangerous dependence on Khartoum but also the fragility of South Sudan's own peace. South Sudan has existed in a near-constant state of conflict since gaining independence in 2011. At times this has meant shocking but low-level violence in the countryside; at others, full-blown civil war. Between 2013 and 2018, a brutal civil conflict claimed 400,000 lives. That war ended without a definitive victory for any faction, and the peace since has relied on President Salva Kiir's ability to line the pockets of elites with oil money—a strategy the burst pipeline took a hatchet to. The sudden loss of oil revenue threatened the patronage networks that had kept South Sudan's fractious political class from returning to open warfare. The border region has become a zone of dangerous complexity. The fighting in Sudan has caused more than a million people to cross into South Sudan, placing immense strain on a nation already struggling with its own internal challenges. But it is not just refugees moving across the border. RSF fighters have crossed into Upper Nile state multiple times, particularly around the border town of Renk. According to the Sudan War Monitor, the South Sudanese army allows them in because the RSF are willing to fight ethnic Nuer militias loyal to former vice president Riek Machar, currently on trial for treason. The government and the paramilitaries also trade weapons for fuel in a mutually beneficial arrangement. President Kiir's growing closeness with the UAE suggests that Abu Dhabi may be forcing South Sudan and the RSF into a marriage of convenience. It is likely no coincidence that the UAE has since built a so-called "field hospital" in South Sudan that looks eerily similar to the one in Chad used for weapons transfers. South Sudan, desperate for oil revenue and UAE investment, appears to be allowing its territory to serve as another node in the network supplying Hemedti's forces. The danger extends beyond South Sudan: fighting has spilled into border zones with Egypt and Libya, creating a deep sense of dread among analysts that the conflict could soon engulf the entire region. As regional analyst Shewit Woldemichael warns, "With foreign powers getting drawn further into Sudan amid a complex mesh of alliances, the risks that the war's shock waves will carry across the Red Sea region are heightening." If the war continues on its current trajectory, it risks destabilizing the entire Horn of Africa, with potentially disastrous consequences far beyond the region.

The Mirage of Military Victory: Why Neither Side Will Compromise

Peace deals and ceasefires in Sudan have come and gone with such alarming frequency that Al Jazeera dedicated an entire article to analyzing why they keep failing. The answer is brutally simple: neither al-Burhan nor Hemedti is interested in a peace deal. Both still believe that a military victory is possible, and that belief keeps the war grinding forward despite its catastrophic human cost. For al-Burhan, confidence in eventual victory stems from the dramatic reversal of fortunes over the past thirteen months. For the first year and a half of the war, the narrative centered on an apparently inevitable RSF victory. Across 2023 and into 2024, the paramilitaries not only seized most of Khartoum and Darfur but swept into the agricultural states that supply the capital, secured most of the southern border, and appeared to be preparing to march eastward to Port Sudan. By the summer of 2024, as most of the world focused on the U.S. election, al-Burhan's own generals were briefing that he might have to step down, so certain did the SAF's defeat seem. Then came September 2024 and the start of one of the great counterattacks in recent military history. That month, the SAF—now replete with Iranian weapons—launched a counteroffensive across the country. From initially capturing key bridges in Khartoum, it snowballed into a string of successes that lasted into late spring 2025. Key strategic cities like Wad Madani and Khartoum Bahri fell, followed by the capital itself. Since then, the army has driven west into Kordofan, recently capturing the key supply city of Bara. The goal appears to be opening a route to El-Fasher and potentially relieving the siege there. For Hemedti, belief in victory comes from the RSF's growing stranglehold on Darfur. While the days when it looked like the RSF might become Sudan's sole rulers are definitively over, it increasingly appears the paramilitaries may be able to partition the nation. The end of August 2024 saw the group swear in a parallel government in the South Darfur capital of Nyala, and Hemedti has no shortage of international backers who might make recognizing his rule the price for peace. Hence the SAF's drive west: if al-Burhan is to have any chance of keeping Sudan from splitting in two for the second time in fifteen years, his army must regain territory in Darfur as soon as possible. In reality, neither side appears strong enough to claim a military victory. Sudan's only hope for peace in the foreseeable future lies in external actors intervening in the war putting their own interests aside and forcing the two generals to the negotiating table—an outcome that seems vanishingly unlikely. And so Sudan keeps marching toward the abyss of partition, with the Sudanese people paying the price for their leaders' delusions of total victory.

The Human Cost: A Nation on the Brink of Collapse

The scale of Sudan's humanitarian catastrophe defies comprehension. More than half of the country's population—approximately 25 million people—need humanitarian assistance. Hunger has reached catastrophic levels, with famine confirmed in ten areas and seventeen more at risk. In some regions, the World Food Programme is all that stands between the population and mass starvation. The health and education systems have collapsed entirely. The economy is barely hanging on. Sudan's finance minister reported that the war has resulted in economic losses exceeding $26 billion—a staggering sum considering that in 2021, Sudan's GDP was $34 billion. Over four million people have lost their jobs, and seven million have been pushed into extreme poverty. These are not merely statistics; they represent the systematic destruction of a nation's social and economic fabric, the erasure of decades of development, and the theft of an entire generation's future. Yet amid this apocalypse, the Sudanese people remain desperate but not broken. Renowned human rights activist Awadiya Mahmoud, speaking to the World Food Programme, insists that peace is possible. "Our hope is for the war to stop, so we can go back home," she says. "We don't want the war. It harmed us, particularly women." Fatimmah, a mother of seven, dreams of a future where classrooms can be used for learning instead of surviving, where her children and all of Sudan's children can thrive instead of constantly running from violence. "They are taking everything away from us," she says of the warring parties. "They need to sit down, speak, and solve this." But that would require peace, and peace requires the generals to value Sudanese lives more than their own ambitions. For now, such an outcome remains nothing more than a bitter dream. Away from the headlines, Sudan's conflict seems destined to march on—a never-ending tale of fire and bloodshed in which each new chapter brings only new levels of suffering. The war plumbs new depths of depravity even as the wider world reacts with little more than a shrug. Peace will one day return to Africa's third-largest nation, but for now, this war remains one of the great underreported crises of our time—a daily reminder of the evil that humans are capable of inflicting on one another, and of the world's capacity to look away.

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FAQ

Who are Abdel Fattah al‑Burhan and Mohamed Hamdan Dagalo (Hemedti), and why did they clash?

Abdel Fattah al‑Burhan is the former army chief who led Sudan’s regular forces, while Mohamed Hamdan Dagalo, known as Hemedti, commands the Rapid Support Forces, a paramilitary group rooted in the Janjaweed. Their clash began in April 2023 when both leaders vied for control of the state, each seeking to consolidate power and secure strategic assets, leading to a full‑scale civil war.

What role did the Rapid Support Forces (RSF) play in the Sudan war, and how did they evolve from the Janjaweed?

The RSF, originally the Janjaweed militia formed to support Khartoum’s campaigns in Darfur, has transformed into a sophisticated paramilitary force under Hemedti. It now receives foreign mercenaries, advanced weaponry, and financial backing, enabling it to conduct large‑scale sieges, ethnic massacres, and systematic atrocities that have become central to the Sudan war’s brutality.

How has the Sudan conflict become a proxy war involving regional powers like Chad, Ethiopia, UAE, Russia, and Iran?

Regional actors have supplied arms, money, and fighters to the warring sides, turning Sudan into a proxy battleground. Chad allegedly transmits UAE‑backed weapons to the RSF; Ethiopia backs the SAF; the UAE funds RSF gold mining and mercenaries; Russia’s Wagner Group and Iran’s drones support the SAF; and Libya’s oil smuggling fuels RSF operations, all amplifying the conflict’s reach.

What is the current humanitarian situation in Sudan, and how many people are affected by famine and displacement?

Famine is confirmed in 10 regions, with 17 more at risk, and 25 million people require humanitarian assistance. Over 12 million have been displaced, infrastructure has collapsed, and the economy has lost more than $26 billion, leaving basic services and food supplies in crisis.

Why did the 2019 revolution fail to bring lasting peace, and what led to the 2023 full‑scale war?

The 2019 revolution ousted Bashir but installed a fragile transitional council that collapsed under internal divisions. Power struggles between the SAF and RSF, each backed by rival generals, erupted into a full‑scale war in 2023 when neither side was willing to compromise, reigniting violence across Sudan.

What evidence exists of genocide or war crimes committed by the RSF, and how has the international community responded?

Reports from Human Rights Watch, UN investigations, and eyewitness accounts document RSF door‑to‑door massacres, ethnic cleansing of Masalit in Geneina, systematic rape, and the killing of civilians, leading the US Secretary of State to label RSF actions as genocide and prompting calls for international accountability.

What are the prospects for peace or a political settlement in Sudan, given the rivalry between al‑Burhan and Hemedti?

With both generals pursuing military victory rather than compromise, the likelihood of a negotiated settlement is low; external actors have limited influence, and the war’s trajectory suggests a continued stalemate or further fragmentation, leaving peace uncertain.

Sources

About the Author

Wilfred M. Waimiri

Wilfred M. Waimiri creates and presents analysis focused on military doctrine, strategic competition, and conflict dynamics.

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