The Face of Truth: Thursday of Thought, Melody, and Self-Determination
Ibrahim Shglawi
When the sound of gunfire drowns out all other voices, and cultural features fade under the onslaught of war, history is not made by soldiers alone—but also by clever, creative minds. Between the rifle and the pen, a pressing question emerges: Where are the Sudanese creatives? Those who have long shaped the conscience of the Sudanese nation and paved the way to patriotism and awareness through words, music, and theatre.
Since the outbreak of the disgraceful war on April 15, 2023, the country has entered one of its harshest phases—an existential crisis that threatens identity and reshapes Sudanese society under new terms. Amid this challenging scene, the cultural arena appears eerily silent, devoid of the familiar voices we once turned to in times of national turning points, as if exhaustion has taken over, and they have lost sight of the historical moment.
The absence of the Sudanese creative from the scene of war and hardship forms a void at a time when presence is needed more than ever. Sudan’s history has shown us that words have always been a part of political struggle, that songs expressed what newspapers could not, and that theatre dared to say what public platforms feared. During the revolution, the streets wouldn’t have ignited without the voice of Mohammed Al-Amin, and the dream would not have survived in memory without the poems of Mohammed Al-Makki Ibrahim.
In moments of retreat, Hussein Onsa wrote: “Beloved is my homeland, despite the cruelty of hardship,” and his words became fuel for reclaiming hope. Poetry was never a luxury, nor was song a mere diversion—it was a weapon in the battle for dignity and a path to healing when shared values vanished.
This absence can only be fully understood through comparison with other nations that endured similar tragedies and succeeded—alongside the gun—in preserving their nations with the ink of creativity. Rwanda’s experience offers a powerful lesson. After suffering one of the most horrific genocides of the modern era in 1994, it demonstrated how words can become a bridge to the future.
In a society torn by ethnic divisions, art became a tool for confrontation and truth-telling. Theatre spoke the unspeakable and told the stories of both survivors and perpetrators simultaneously. The stage became more honest than international justice platforms and more effective in building collective memory. This experience—making creativity a cornerstone of reconciliation—is deeply relevant to Sudan, where similar divisions and wounds are at play.
In Rwanda, national identity was not forged in political chambers alone, but in the cultural space that helped rebuild the human spirit. Likewise in Lebanon—a country that endured a fifteen-year civil war—political theatre, music, and cinema became platforms for long-suppressed questions: Who are we? Why did this country burn? Artists like Fairouz and Ziad Rahbani played a unique role in challenging sectarian narratives, using a language of satire and raw truth. While politicians failed to heal the divide, art remained the only space where Lebanese people could gather without asking, What sect are you from? They came together in love for the homeland.
Lebanon and Rwanda, each in its own way, proved that the artist is not someone who arrives after the battle—but before, during, and after it. Creativity is a vital necessity in moments of fracture. That is the most important lesson Sudanese creatives must understand today. The people are not waiting for poetic wandering or out-of-context melodies. They are waiting for an artistic voice that will reunite fragmented memory and write what news bulletins dare not say.
Sudan—with all its cultural diversity—does not need new political elites as much as it needs new imagination. It needs a fresh narrative to reweave its torn social fabric in the language of a homeland that can embrace all. It needs a song to comfort a resilient Madani, a poem to rescue Khartoum from drowning in contradictions, and a play to bring back the scattered hopes of Kordofan and Darfur before they vanish.
From this #Face_of_Truth perspective, and in light of Sudan’s transformative moment, rebuilding the Sudanese state cannot be reduced to political or security tracks alone. It demands the awakening of alert forces—of which artists are a vital part: writers, playwrights, poets, and musicians. These individuals are not mere transmitters of emotion or chroniclers of events—they are shapers of collective consciousness, keepers of cultural memory, and architects of national imagination.
The theatre that exposes the structures of violence, the poetry that internalizes pain and transforms it into hope, and the art that unites the street when politics fails—these are tools as important as negotiation, reconciliation, and transitional justice. From this standpoint, the survival of Sudan as a unifying idea and a viable national project depends on the creative elite’s ability to reconstruct the national narrative and craft an inclusive discourse that reflects diversity and bridges social divides.
That is the essence of this Thursday of Thought, Melody, and Self-Determination.
Wishing you peace and wellness,
Thursday, June 26, 2025
📧 Shglawi55@gmail.com