In the shadow of global headlines and distant from the consciousness of many in the West, Sudan is enduring one of the world’s most acute humanitarian crises—a catastrophe that has unfolded with shocking brutality and, for the most part, devastating silence from the international community. The fall of El Fasher, the capital of North Darfur, to the paramilitary Rapid Support Forces (RSF) on October 26, 2025, marked a grim turning point in an 18-month siege that has left scars far deeper than the rubble-strewn streets and the empty market stalls.
The origins of Sudan’s current nightmare are tangled in decades of political instability, militarized governance, and a history of unresolved violence. As Middle East Eye recently emphasized, it’s a mistake to see Sudan simply as a case study in civil war. The roots of today’s conflict stretch back to the 2019 revolution and the ouster of longtime dictator Omar al-Bashir. After a fragile military-civilian transition, tensions between Sudanese Armed Forces (SAF) commander Gen Abdel Fattah al Burhan and RSF leader Gen Mohamed Hamdan Dagalo—known as Hemetti—erupted over plans to fold the RSF into the national army. The result: a full-scale civil war ignited in April 2023, with devastating consequences for millions.
Few outside Sudan can grasp the scale of suffering. As reported by Felix, more than 12 million people have been displaced, famine threatens vast swathes of the country, and the collapse of infrastructure has left entire cities on the brink of annihilation. The siege of El Fasher was a particularly cruel chapter. According to Orient XXI, the RSF encircled the city with a 55-kilometre sand trench, cutting off all humanitarian aid and subjecting the population—260,000 civilians, half of them children—to relentless shelling, drone strikes, and systematic starvation. When the city finally fell, thousands were executed in a matter of hours. Estimates of the dead range from 2,000 to as many as 9,000, but with communication blackouts and only a handful of activists able to bypass the RSF’s controls, the true toll may never be known.
Survivors’ stories are harrowing. Abdelwahab, a 57-year-old resident, told Orient XXI of fleeing the city with “fear and hunger in our stomachs,” only to find the streets “strewn with bodies.” Stopped at an RSF checkpoint, men were separated from women, stripped, and gathered in the dust. “Of the hundred or so men, none got back up. Or almost none: By the grace of God, I survived,” Abdelwahab recalled. Wounded and barefoot, he made his way to Tawila, one of the few safe havens controlled by the Sudan Liberation Movement. Fewer than 10,000 of the more than 70,000 who fled El Fasher reached this sanctuary.
For those left behind, the siege meant starvation and desperation. Residents reported eating animal feed—ambaz—when available, and, when that ran out, boiling cowhide to stave off hunger. Medicine vanished, and the only functioning hospital, the Saudi hospital, was repeatedly targeted by artillery and drone strikes. “Mothers no longer have milk to feed their infants. And even if you manage to find a bit of money, the market stalls are empty and you risk drone strikes just by going there. We are the marginalized of the marginalized. The world has forgotten us,” a displaced woman told Orient XXI.
Yet, the suffering in El Fasher is only the latest episode in a conflict marked by ethnic cleansing and mass atrocities. In June 2023, the RSF seized El-Geneina in West Darfur, carrying out a campaign of violence against the Massalit community that left between 10,000 and 15,000 dead, according to the United Nations. The RSF, descendants of the notorious Janjaweed militias implicated in genocide since 2003, have continued a strategy of land grabbing and targeted violence, often with the support of foreign powers. The United Arab Emirates has supplied the RSF with advanced weaponry, drones, and even Colombian mercenaries, giving Hemetti’s forces a decisive edge in the brutal contest for control.
As the RSF consolidates its hold over Darfur and the SAF fortifies the east—including the recapture of Khartoum in March 2025—Sudan appears to be fracturing along political, ethnic, and geographic lines. The RSF’s political wing, under the Orwellian moniker “Government of Peace,” now operates from Nyala, South Darfur, while the SAF’s authority is centered in Port Sudan. Both sides continue to claim ambitions for national unity, but on the ground, the reality looks increasingly like a de facto partition, reminiscent of the Libyan model.
For Sudanese students abroad, the war is anything but distant. At Imperial College London, Hiba Gorashi, President of the Sudanese Society, described the “quiet heaviness” carried by those with family and friends trapped in the conflict. “Checking your phone after a day in university and seeing escalations of what is happening back home is devastating,” she told Felix. The society has become a vital space for support, activism, and fundraising, but institutional backing has lagged far behind. Gorashi’s recommendations are practical: proactive outreach during escalations, clear academic mitigation for affected students, public recognition of Sudan’s crisis, and tangible support for those facing communication blackouts or financial strain. “Being seen by the institution you study in makes a difference,” she emphasized.
Despite the tireless work of Sudanese students and activists, the world’s attention remains fleeting. Humanitarian organizations have sounded the alarm for months, describing El Fasher as “the pit of hell,” in UNICEF’s words. Yet, no significant international initiative has demanded the lifting of the siege or prevented the descent into mass famine and slaughter. The most recent peace talks, brokered by the United States, United Arab Emirates, Saudi Arabia, and Egypt, quickly collapsed. The RSF briefly signaled willingness to negotiate, only to resume drone attacks the next day. The SAF, meanwhile, has refused talks until the RSF withdraws from civilian areas, calling instead for general mobilization and increased support from Egyptian and Turkish allies.
As the frontlines shift and the technological sophistication of the conflict grows—both sides now deploy drones supplied by foreign patrons—the suffering of ordinary Sudanese deepens. Nearly 44 million people remain caught in the crossfire, half of them on the brink of famine. For many, Sudan has become a symbol of the world’s selective empathy, a crisis too often relegated to the margins of international concern.
But for those living through it, and for their loved ones abroad, the war is an ever-present reality—a relentless test of resilience, solidarity, and hope. As Gorashi put it, “The world’s silence has been painful, but every act of awareness, empathy, or amplification matters.” Paying attention, she reminds us, is not symbolic. It is an act of solidarity, a refusal to let suffering go unseen.
In a world overwhelmed by crises, Sudan’s agony should not be another headline to scroll past. The responsibility, as ever, is to look up, listen, and refuse to turn away.
