Marhaba,   

This is the 39th issue of Atar English magazine, from Sudan Facts Center for Journalism. It will be coming to you on Monday, every two weeks. 

The fall of Al-Fashir to the Rapid Support Forces (RSF) was more than a military defeat. It was a revelation of how deeply Sudan’s institutions have eroded. As images emerged on October 28 showing RSF fighters entering the city, Sudanese society reacted with grief, fear, confusion, and in some places, celebration. This divide suggests a nation not only at war with armed factions, but at odds with itself. 

Al-Fashir did not fall to a foreign army. It was surrounded by forces drawn from nearby cities: Nyala, Ad-Daein, Al-Jenaynah, reinforced by foreign advisors, advanced weaponry, and mercenaries from other continents. The use of military drones over Darfur marked a shift in the nature of the war: remote strikes, unseen operators, and technology previously unknown in Sudan’s conflicts. Why was Al-Fashir considered valuable enough to justify this level of violence and investment? 

The RSF has framed its campaign as a fight against “Islamists” and the legacy of Sudan’s post-independence state. But Al-Fashir was not an Islamist base nor a refuge for political leaders. Its residents and soldiers of the Sixth Infantry Division refused to abandon the city, not out of ideology, but because they saw themselves as custodians of a place central to Sudan’s identity. Their refusal led to collective punishment: killings, sexual violence, and summary executions—some documented on camera by RSF fighters themselves. RSF commander Mohamed Hamdan Dagalo, known as Hemedti, later dismissed these actions as “uncontrolled excesses.” 

The irony is that those claiming to dismantle Sudan’s old order were part of it. Hemedti served as Deputy Head of the Sovereignty Council, was a key figure in the transitional government, and before that, a security ally of former president Omar al-Bashir in Darfur, Kordofan, and Khartoum. His primary rivalry was never with Islamists, who were politically weakened or imprisoned, but with the Sudanese Armed Forces (SAF) itself, the institution he hoped to replace with his own force. 

The battle for Al-Fashir also made clear that the war is no longer dictated solely within Sudan. While drones struck Darfur, delegations from the RSF and the SAF traveled to Washington for preliminary talks on a ceasefire. The United States, Saudi Arabia, the United Arab Emirates, and Egypt are pushing for a three-month truce and a framework for political negotiations. The same actors enabling the military escalation are now shaping the diplomatic process. Decisions about war and peace are increasingly influenced from abroad. 

Drone warfare has altered the military balance. After suffering losses in conventional fighting, the RSF used drones to reassert reach, from Darfur to Khartoum and Port Sudan. The SAF, in response, is seeking advanced air defense systems from foreign suppliers. The war has become a marketplace: of drones, weapons, influence, and geopolitical leverage. Cities are not just battlegrounds; they are being economically and socially emptied. 

The real danger is no longer the fall of a single city, but the collapse of the Sudanese state as an idea. When civilian protection is treated as secondary, and mass violence becomes a tool for negotiation or territorial gain, the war ceases to be political. It becomes a process of dismantling. 

Today, Al-Fashir is more than occupied territory. It is a question: can Sudan still produce a political framework capable of holding the country together? Or has it entered a future governed by militias, foreign sponsors, and permanent fragmentation? What is at stake is not just control of land, but whether the very concept of Sudan can survive.