The Face of Truth: Mr. President: Our war is against forgetfulness
Ibrahim Shaglawi
In the midst of wars, no voice rises above the sound of battle. Yet, history is not written by the bravery of men and the bursts of ammunition alone. Every war, no matter how fierce its flames or great its calamities, will one day end—only for the battle of the vigilant memory to begin. In that battle, events are re-ordered, narratives are written, and the struggle over the truth is decided. Thus, documentation during wartime is not an intellectual luxury, but rather an act of resistance—a parallel struggle against efforts of erasure and distortion. It starts with the narratives of a war that began with a coup driven by lust for power and control of the state—a truth some try to bury—and ends with those who stood firm to protect the country, restore security, and achieve peace for the Sudanese people.
What makes the absence of documentation even more dangerous is that Sudanese society—by its very nature—is oral. It tends to pass down stories verbally rather than through writing, and to preserve history in hearts rather than in lines. This cultural trait may have been a source of oral richness and narrative exchange in times of stability, but in times of disaster and war, it becomes a serious obstacle to building a documented narrative that can be relied upon in the path of transitional justice and restoring rights. The lack of a culture of written documentation has led to many decisive events in Sudan’s history being recounted with conflicting versions, causing the truth to be lost in the crowd.
Since the outbreak of war in Sudan on April 15, 2023, the country has faced an unprecedented wave of systematic destruction. The Rapid Support Militia did not suffice with committing atrocities on the ground; they also consciously sought to erase everything that could form a collective memory. Educational institutions were burned, media outlets looted, cultural centers, libraries, and museums plundered, ministry buildings and archives destroyed. They committed a compounded crime targeting both present and future. What is erased from memory today will not be easily recovered tomorrow, and what is neglected in documentation will turn into a void that fake narratives will exploit.
Documentation is not limited to collecting images or recounting events. It goes further—it is about constructing a complete narrative that expresses the essence of what happened, preserves meaning from vanishing, and contributes to achieving justice after the war. It is an ethical and political obligation shared by state institutions, the media, civil society, creatives, and survivors and victims who hold living testimony. Just as armies advance on the battlefield, cameras and pens must advance on another front—the front of awareness and documentation.
What is happening in Sudan is not a mere power struggle, as some claim, but an attempt to destabilize the structure of the national state and destroy its foundations—starting with the army and institutions and ending with memory. Therefore, the battle is not only fought on the ground, but also on paper, in images, in sound, in text and drama—in everything that immortalizes the truth and rescues it from extinction. We are not fighting only for victory, but to prove that we were here—where there was resilience, sacrifice, and defense of the state and the entity—and that they were there—where there was conspiracy, collapse, and betrayal. We resisted, alongside our glorious army, a renewed colonial project and did not remain silent in the face of destruction.
In moments of great tribulation, new responsibilities are born. The teacher who teaches in a destroyed school, the journalist who documents amid danger, the writer who transforms tragedy into legal testimony, the historian who preserves historical memory—all are soldiers in the battle for documentation and dignity. The state must later embrace these efforts and transform them into a comprehensive national archive that restores the Sudanese people’s trust in their history, protects their right to justice, and prevents the recurrence of catastrophe and war.
What we do not document today will tomorrow become a narrative told by the enemy—and received by the world as truth. He who does not own his memory will not own his future. Therefore, documentation is not just a reaction to pain, but a conscious, intentional act by which we draw the image of our wounded nation as it truly is—with all its harshness and nobility, all that was lost and all that remains. It is not enough to win—we must also tell how we won, why we stood firm, who was with us, who was against us, who was neutral, and who sought to uproot us from our land.
Therefore, as we see from the Face of Truth, strategic documentation is not merely a task of recording events—it is a serious step toward building a collective national memory capable of facing future challenges. In the Sudanese context, where oral memory prevails, the state, civil society, and the private sector must work together to document the battle of reclaiming Mount Moya, the army leadership, and the Republican Palace as some of the most prominent chapters of national resistance. This crucial documentation forms a bridge between the past and the present and reinforces historical justice at a time when narratives are many and contradictory. We therefore send a message to the concerned authorities, starting with the President of the Sovereignty Council and the Sudanese government, on the necessity of swiftly launching a comprehensive national documentation project, supported by media, arts, academic and research institutions—so that this decisive chapter remains part of Sudan’s history that must not be forgotten, and so that it serves as a lesson and reminder for this generation and generations to come.
Wishing you well and good health.
Monday, April 7, 2025
Shglawi55@gmail.com