> Too often, Sudan is discussed as a case study, not a community. The suffering of our people becomes material for academic discourse, political theorising and strategic analysis, while those enduring the crisis are reduced to passive subjects.
> 
> We are spoken about, but not spoken to. Our lived realities are footnotes in conversations that rarely seek our input or reflect our priorities. 
> 
> This disconnect, I believe, is part of a deeper crisis of representation and trust - one that not only alienates people from political processes, but erodes the very possibility of solutions that are grounded in people's lived experiences of hunger, displacement, suffering and war.
> 
> Sudan is not lacking in political actors. From longstanding opposition movements to newly formed coalitions, the political landscape appears full. But behind this abundance lies an absence of grounded, practical solutions that meet the real needs of Sudanese people.
> 
> Much of the political discourse feels like it exists in a vacuum: theory and slogans that are increasingly disconnected from the brutal realities that define daily life for millions of people. Political elites debate frameworks and ideologies, often in languages and logics unfamiliar to the very people they claim to represent.
> 
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> 
> The language used in discussions of Sudanese affairs, jargon-laced and abstract, feels distant from the lived realities of displaced families, hungry children or exhausted frontline responders. Politics in Sudan have become performative, and solutions are more symbolic than substantive - offering no answers to the basic questions of survival, justice and dignity.
> 
> It's no surprise that trust in political parties and elites in Sudan is eroding, if it has not entirely collapsed, as more polarising discourses continue to emerge.
> 
> Divisions and accusations
> 
> Daily on social media, people express their discontent, frustration and exhaustion with the current situation. And yet, despite widespread mistrust, every space is politicised. Everyone suddenly becomes an expert, fighting over ideological positions while the country burns. 
> 
> Political identities have become a source of division rather than direction. Rivalries fester. Accusations fly. Every discussion becomes a battleground. But for what? What have we actually achieved with all this?
> 
> Even within nonviolent movements rooted in the ideals of dignity and democratic change, toxic political rivalries have crept in. Those offering a different perspective are often accused of pushing an agenda or acting as a proxy for another party. Principled disagreements devolve into verbal abuse, silencing and mistrust. 
> 
> We need to fundamentally rethink how we can move differently with regards to our organising, our institutions and our vision for a postwar Sudan
> 
> These movements, meant to model the very democracy they are calling for, instead start to mirror the dysfunction we are resisting. 
> 
> It thus becomes harder and harder to distinguish between opposition to authoritarianism, and reproduction of it within. This is a reminder that democracy is not just a destination; its values should be embodied in everyday relationships and actions.
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> Amid this backdrop, the basic foundational infrastructure required for human dignity is crumbling. Public services are collapsing. People are dying of hunger and displacement. What has all this political energy actually achieved, beyond increasing divisions and disillusionment?
> 
> We are told that having an abundance of political parties and movements is a sign of a healthy democracy. But democracy is not defined by how many parties exist; it is defined by how power is shared, how decisions are made and how the people are served. 
> 
> Sudan's over-politicisation has not made it more democratic. It has made it more fragmented, distrusting and dangerously detached from the urgent needs on the ground. 
> 
> Tragic paradox
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> We find ourselves today suspended in a tragic paradox: a country brimming with political theory, yet starved of practical action, as traditional responses to Sudan's intractable war keep falling short.
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> The war is not simply the result of two armed factions fighting for power. It is also the outcome of decades of politicised governance, hollowed-out institutions and civic spaces weakened by rivalries instead of solidarity.
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> If we want to understand the war and help bring about peace, we must also understand the culture of politics that shaped it: one where parties multiply, but solutions don't. It is a culture where disagreement is punished, and where performance is prioritised over people.
> 
> 
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> 
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> Of course, these dynamics coexist with many other forces fuelling Sudan's war: militarisation, regional interference, economic collapse, elite bargains and more.
> 
> By discussing this specific aspect, I do not mean to downplay or ignore the broader and equally urgent drivers of war. Rather, I hope to highlight one piece of the puzzle - a perspective grounded in civic experience, which is often overshadowed in policy and security conversations.
> 
> We need to fundamentally rethink how we can move differently with regards to our organising, our institutions and our vision for a postwar Sudan.
> 
> Perhaps the question is no longer which party or movement will lead Sudan forward - but whether any political framework can succeed without first reconnecting to the lived realities of the people. Until our politics begin with dignity, healing and material justice - not just as ideas, but as daily praxis - we will continue to recycle the same broken patterns.
> 
> Disclaimer: The reflections shared in this piece are based on personal observations and lived experiences of a Sudanese woman navigating humanitarian and political spaces. They represent the views of the author only. They are written from a place of concern, frustration and longing, not certainty, not in condemnation. Critique is not betrayal, it is a necessary act to name the broken systems that hold us back from the progress we seek.
> 
> The views expressed in this article belong to the author and do not necessarily reflect the editorial policy of Middle East Eye.

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OPINION | Why we need to change the conversation on Sudan - The Middle East Eye