Has Sudan’s Conflict Reached a Turning Point?

Starting as a turf war between the Rapid Support Forces (RSF) and Sudanese Armed Forces (SAF) – different wings of the same junta regime – in April 2023, the conflict has spiralled into a humanitarian catastrophe, with 61,000 deaths estimated in Khartoum State alone. Throughout the early months of fighting, General Abdel Fattah al-Burhan (head of the conventional military) faced numerous setbacks as General Mohamed Hamdan ‘Hemedti’ Dagalo – his former deputy – captured territory roughly the size of France and Germany combined, including much of the capital, almost all of Darfur, and significant swathes of the southeast. Successive counteroffensives seemed piecemeal and under-resourced, characterised by brief breakthroughs that quickly ran out of steam.

However, with the beginning of Sudan’s dry season this pattern appears to have shifted as SAF launched several attacks along multiple axes in September and October, displaying an unusual degree of operational dexterity. Benefiting from a massive recruitment drive, waves of infantry seized arterial roads and bridges connecting Omdurman with Khartoum city. Supplemented by airstrikes and heavy shelling, the assault made rapid gains, consolidating footholds on the Nile’s eastern bank and eventually establishing a perimeter among the high-rises of al-Morgan. In the north, army units infiltrated Bahri, relieving the beleaguered garrison in Kadroo before advancing to Rayhan Hospital. Should the push continue through densely packed districts such as Shambat, SAF could reach its long-besieged Signal Corps and other enclaves like the General Command complex; effectively confining RSF control to Khartoum’s outer suburbs. Elsewhere, the military captured Jabal Moya – a mountainous transport hub overlooking the Sinnar prairies – and cut off RSF-held cities including Sinjah and Karkoj. Weeks later, SAF advances were aided by the defection of Major-General Abu Aaqla Keykal, Hemedti’s top lieutenant in the breadbasket state of Gezira. Further west, the Darfur Joint Protection Forces – a conglomeration of army-backed ex-rebels and local militiamen – opened new fronts in Mellit, Kutum and Kulbus, drawing RSF troops away from their ‘totemic’ attack on El-Fashar, and precipitating clashes along the Chadian border. 

‘Kamadol’ Contained?

There is no doubt that these issues represent a blow for Hemedti. Overstretched, attritted and reeling from the loss of senior commanders, the RSF’s momentum has evidently slowed. After the imposition of sanctions on his younger brother, the self-styled strongman delivered a 39-minute tirade against the US, Iran and Sudanese ‘Islamists’, before accusing Egypt of complicity in SAF bombing runs. Followed by a ban on trading across the frontline(s) (in effect, an export embargo on Cairo), the unscripted rant suggests Hemedti is under mounting pressure. Not only are his military fortunes waning, but the RSF’s diplomatic standing has largely collapsed. Foreign troll-farms are still pumping out content, framing the group as a rustic expression of democracy and social justice, but such messaging has little resonance. At home, as abroad, the Dagalo brand is often dismissed as ‘toxic’.

The last problem is perhaps the most salient. Operational setbacks can be stabilised: the urban sprawl (and rubblisation) of downtown Khartoum, for instance, benefits sniper-teams harassing infantry and armour, harrying tactics that have already waylaid SAF’s progress. Despite the army’s use of Iranian drones (and domestic derivatives), municipal strongholds like al-Gaili, a key fuel depot, remain in paramilitary hands, and – without the element of surprise – any further incursions face a protracted slog. Even if the RSF is eventually prised out of the capital and southeastern Sudan, al-Burhan does not have the capacity, logistics or manpower to launch an immediate offensive into Darfur – marchlands the metropolitan elite have never had much ability or inclination to administer. Sudanese wars rarely end with a decisive military victory, and that is unlikely to change this time around. 

Instead, Hemedti’s main difficulty is one of corporate sustainability. As previously argued, paramilitary governance has become a subsidiary of the RSF’s cash economy, with the rubric of rural revolution offering euphemisms for brigandage and resource extraction. Dubbed the ‘Republic of Kamadol’, the group’s territorial expansion is not an exercise in state formation so much as an inversion of frontier capitalism; a form of nomadic kleptocracy – of ‘rule from the saddle’ – built on the systematic looting of Sudanese cities and upheaval of old social hierarchies. Crucially however, asset-stripping and land appropriation – like all modes of conspicuous consumption – tend to be short-lived. This raises problems as rapacity has become a defining feature of the ‘lumpenmilitariat’ making up the RSF’s social base. Having relied on al-Fa’a (independent recruitment drives by paramount chiefs), forced conscription, and a sundry collection of freeloaders, mercenaries and ‘al-Kasaba’ (bandits), many of Hemedti’s troops operate outside the group’s command chains or coterminous clan networks. Over 30 organisations are nominally included under the RSF’s Advisory Council alone; a ‘messy constellation of armed men’ with the shared ‘conviction that they have been deprived of the spoils of state’. It is a solidarity predicated on opportunism and disaffection. Satisfying any ensuing expectations, and retaining control, subsequently depends on the material gains that accompany military success. In short, the RSF must devour to survive.

This creates a paradox as the mechanics of militia-rule – coercion and violence – carry ‘escalating political costs’. Tahany Maalla makes the case that international recognition and domestic legitimacy are necessary if Hemedti wants to preserve his grip on power, which in turn requires developing a genuine political constituency. Keykal’s defection is indicative: without the buy-in of provincial kingpins, the RSF’s ability to project force and hold (and harvest) territory is severely hampered. The roll-out of ‘civil administrations’ – local councils tasked with service delivery – may be a (superficial) push in this direction, attempting to attract support beyond the aleutaawa communities of Darfur and Kordofan. But it comes with risk, ceding space for endogenous competition that could eventually undermine the Dagalos’ own authority. Reports are already citing dissention among Rizeigat Arabs, infighting between rival units, and disputes over leadership succession. At the same time, experiments in civic engagement are eclipsed by the rampant criminality of RSF occupation, with efforts to rein in predatory behaviour – from field courts to special investigative committees – making little headway. The massacres in Gezira following Keykal’s surrender are merely the latest example of how far impunity and identity politics are baked into the group’s pathology. Against this backdrop, Hemedti’s proposed social contract is neither convincing nor particularly appealing, and yet remains essential for securing his position in ‘any post-conflict arrangement’. With murmurings of a renewed interest in some sort of ‘negotiated settlement’, the greatest danger to the RSF could, in other words, come from the group consuming itself.

Paper Armies

Although these developments are clearly a boon to the army and reflect improvements in force posture and strategic planning, they offer no guarantee of long-term success. SAF has consistently underperformed throughout the crisis; its air fleet and ‘Soviet armour’ have been gradually worn down; the general staff is divided; and any gains come with trade-offs: breakthroughs in Khartoum coincided with a contraction of military coverage across El-Fashar to the ‘smallest level it has been since May’. Nor are al-Burhan and his deputies particularly popular. RSF atrocities may be distinct in scale and intent, but both parties are ‘bombarding civilians, recruiting children, and inflicting starvation’. Decades of incompetence, graft and ‘ethnic stacking’ have likewise taken a toll on public confidence, and there are reports of recurrent abuses across newly ‘liberated’ territories, from extrajudicial killings to arbitrary arrests and torture. 

This is further complicated by SAF’s decentralised composition. Described by Harry Verhoeven as a ‘complex institution’, the army increasingly resembles Sudan’s ‘security arena’ in miniature: an unstable confection of rented militia, Central Reserve Police, local self-defence forces, Islamist brigades, and intelligence outfits with little in the way of shared ideology or political kinship. Temporarily aligned by fear of the RSF rather than support for al-Burhan or his Sovereign Council, it amounts to a coalition of convenience, one hampered by numerous contradictions and internal rivalries. As a result, SAF has no real way of regulating violence or restoring a monopoly over law and order. The recently created National Committee for Mobilisation and Popular Resistance appears almost Potemkin, with state security structures unable to coordinate or cajole the armed groups they are ostensibly administering. Others blithely pursue their own agendas. The mass enlistment of civilians has also bred variations of ‘roadblock politics’ as unpaid young men – the so-called Mustanfareen or ‘Mobilised’ – exert ‘absolute’ control over their neighbourhoods via improvised checkpoints, summary executions, blackmail and extortion, all in ‘full view’ of the military. Elsewhere, local rifts have precipitated new bouts of fighting as profligacy, ‘hate speech, [and] tribal populism’ incite resource competition and ethnocentric grievances. 

The longer the war drags on, the more intense this centrifugal propensity will become. In contrast to the RSF, revenue from SAF’s parastatal portfolio is often institutional rather than personal, limiting al-Burhan’s political budget. As a result, he is ever more reliant on the Islamist networks of former ministers and old National Congress Party bosses who have ‘money, motivated infantry, and [a] talent for organisation’, but bring a lot of baggage. Insinuations of a ‘Kezan’ revival have already stoked resentment, damaging the ‘middle-of-the-road nationalism’ SAF is trying hard to sell. Importantly, the dependency also speaks to inherent problems in recycling a ‘counterinsurgency on the cheap’ model without the cash or martial clout to actually manage it. Tactical expediency has instead led to the diffusion of authority among different conflict actors, reducing the army to one voice among many and further diminishing its ability to define clear aims, agree concessions, or identify a workable post-war dispensation. 

International Lethargy

Although far from transformative, these shifts may offer new entry points for engagement: the RSF has been checked while SAF is regaining some semblance of momentum. Both face internal – possibly existential – pressures, and neither can currently succeed through military means alone. Nevertheless, it is unclear whether stakeholders such as the US and UK have the necessary leverage or strategic vision to maximise any possible openings. Amid concurrent crises across Gaza, Lebanon and Ukraine, there is little donor bandwidth, and less in the way of resourcing. The failures of Jeddah, and stalled progress in Geneva, reflect not only the limits of US agency but a precipitous decline in Western regional standing more broadly. International ‘norms, laws and arms embargoes’ are regularly ‘flouted’; Emirati support for the RSF is considered an ‘open secret’ (despite Abu Dhabi’s denials); and Turkish, Chinese, Russian and Iranian munitions reportedly replenish SAF stocks along the coast. Port Sudan – the army’s makeshift capital – now resembles what Janet Roitman calls ‘l’entrepot-garrison’, a sun-bleached bazaar of gangsters, ideologues and foreign profiteers. 

At the same time, mass atrocities and sexual violence in Darfur, Kordofan and Khartoum elicit global condemnation but rarely translate into public outrage or policy change. In contrast to the early 2000s, a mix of complex dialectics, the lack of ‘familiar narrative structure’, and a history of frustrated expectations have fostered widespread apathy – both societally and institutionally. Even on a humanitarian level, the Western response is lamentable. Despite 25.6 million people now enduring critical food shortages, less than half the necessary funding has been made available, with much of it insulated from the mutual aid networks – emergency response rooms, neighbourhood committees, and street kitchens – actually supplying hard-to-reach areas. Of course, this problem is not unique to Sudan. As Mariel Ferragamo notes, UN appeals received an average uptake of 58% between 2016 and 2022, and only ‘3% of aid worldwide goes to national and local nonprofits’. But the sheer scale of this crisis, far from finding a sympathetic audience, receives almost no attention. 

Unfortunately, such baselines are unlikely to improve. US President Joe Biden was left a lame duck in the run up to November’s election, and the impending return of a ‘MAGA’ administration will only accelerate the Horn’s de-prioritisation while lumbering the State Department with huge staff turnover. Given his past affinity with the Gulf monarchies, it is also entirely plausible that Donald Trump’s foreign policy will actually empower those responsible for transforming Sudan’s war into a proxy conflict. Headwinds across the Atlantic look similarly bleak, as financial aid offers a pretext for European countries to palm off diplomatic engagement to the Arab League and African Union. Yes, the role of regional bodies is essential, but it cannot absolve EU by-standing. In the UK, headlines describe issues around coordination (or at least communication), alongside past criticisms of Whitehall’s contingency planning. Although some progress is apparent – for instance, the championing of UN Security Council Resolution 2786 (demanding the RSF halt their siege of El-Fashar), the early use of atrocity prevention vocabulary, and the launch of an Independent Fact-Finding Mission (and its later mandate extension) – these technical milestones have not yet coalesced into a coherent strategy. After assuming the presidency of the Security Council for November, the UK (as UN Penholder on both Sudan and the Protection of Civilians agenda) helped raise the war’s profile and made strides in calling for greater accountability – opportunities the US can hopefully build on when it rotates into the role next week. The doubling of bilateral aid (to £113 million) likewise sends an encouraging signal. But any optimism should be tempered: diplomatic manoeuvring has so far reaped few returns, effective funding requires greater flexibility, and there is no evidence that the latest war crimes are any more pronounced in the public imagination.

These shortcomings are not so much aberrations as the symptoms of a multilateral system – a ‘rules-based order’ – that is overwhelmed and distracted. The absence of pre-positioned food stores or any action plan to prevent famine has led to concerns that mass starvation will leave a ‘generations long imprint on [Sudan’s] political economy, social structures, and national identity’. Security Council resolutions are ‘blatantly ignored’ or killed off in draft, as exemplified by the recent Russian veto. Additionally, the Secretary General has ‘nixed’ any prospect of a UN intervention or enforcement mechanism, contravening recommendations made by the Human Rights Council’s Fact-Finding Mission. The Mission itself remains chronically underfunded, with its office in Nairobi, only two-thirds of the allocated staff, and no access to Sudan. After receiving authorisation in October 2023, liquidity issues delayed operations until May, eight months into a (then) year-long mandate. In this context, the well-intentioned language of ‘ceasefires’ and ‘humanitarian assistance’ seems quixotic at best. 

Better inroads have been made in sanctioning those officials, enablers and commercial entities tied to SAF and the RSF, but they are arguably ‘too few to make an impact’, miss major income streams (from illicit gold exports), and do little to stem ‘localised outbreaks of fighting’. Should similar efforts prove more effective in curbing arms flows, there is also a risk that Sudan’s warring coalitions splinter into a myriad of smaller groups. As Tim Liptrot acknowledges, Western stakeholders cannot necessarily disrupt the surplus of ‘low-tech, low quality’ weaponry already saturating Sahelian markets, and so may simply end up decentralising violence while creating a new crop of spoilers. Perhaps most importantly, accountability measures rarely include the external benefactors actively sustaining the conflict, most notably those in the Gulf. With Sudan increasingly rendered a satellite of foreign interests, analysts contend that the ‘keys to resolving the crisis are in the Middle East rather than Africa’, a reality further detracting from the influence of Western donors given their own geopolitical and financial interests.

Short of a decisive shift on the battlefield or further disincentives for regional sponsors, collective inaction will only persist: a continual resort to grandstanding in lieu of strategy. This approach is not only inadequate in itself, but risks conflating ‘ceasefires’ with conflict resolution or atrocity prevention, leaving the response unable to mitigate day-to-day violence while failing to allay its underlying drivers. In the meantime, Sudan burns.

© RUSI, 2024

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