Justice in Times of War: Sudan’s Dilemma Between Law and Revenge
By: Dr. Abdelnasser Solum Hamed
In the shattered streets of Khartoum, people walk among the ruins whispering a single word that echoes in every conversation: justice. Yet, it is not one word for everyone; it carries a thousand contested meanings—for those who lost loved ones, for those forced to cooperate with militias to survive, and for those who fear that justice itself may become a new weapon in a war that has not yet ended.
When the guns fall silent, the battle of memory begins. And the most haunting question arises: Who has the right to tell the truth? Post-war Sudan is not merely searching for those responsible for the catastrophe but for a form of justice that can build peace without destroying humanity.
Although the Sudanese Armed Forces (SAF) have regained control over most of the north, east, and central regions—including the capital, Khartoum—the western front remains complex. In Kordofan, the army advances steadily, reclaiming strategic positions in El Obeid, En Nahud, and around Dilling, in an operation aimed at securing the central corridor linking the heartland to Darfur. Darfur, meanwhile, remains largely under the control of the Rapid Support Forces (RSF), except for the besieged city of El Fasher—the last stronghold of state authority. There, the echoes of shelling intertwine with the cries of hunger, as more than 700,000 civilians stand trapped between death and survival in one of the longest humanitarian ordeals in Sudan’s modern history. While the army and local defense forces struggle to protect the city, fears grow that the siege could evolve into a collective famine—and that justice itself may be tested amid the world’s deafening silence.
At the heart of this debate lies the question of collaboration with the RSF—one of the most delicate and divisive issues in Sudan’s postwar landscape. It sits at the intersection of law and politics, of morality and survival. Not everyone who dealt with the RSF did so out of conviction or complicity; many were coerced, some sought mere survival, while others became genuine partners in the war economy or in spreading the militia’s propaganda.
True justice begins with this distinction: between those who planned, killed, and incited—and those who were forced, afraid, or silent. Political and military leaders who directed operations, businessmen who financed the war, and media figures who fueled hate are all complicit. But those who cooperated under duress, living under RSF control, are victims twice over if punished without nuance.
Justice cannot be complete without prosecuting everyone who took up arms against the state or civilians—whether through direct killing, participation in attacks, or logistical and financial support. Anyone who used force outside the law must face judicial accountability, regardless of rank or justification. Fair trials are the only safeguard against the recurrence of crimes, and they draw the line between justice and revenge. Sudan cannot be rebuilt on impunity, for forgiveness without accountability only breeds new forms of violence. Bearing arms against civilians, committing or aiding acts of extermination, or enabling them through funding or propaganda are crimes under both Sudanese and international law—and demand transparent, fair, and public trials that guarantee the rights of both victims and defendants under the rule of law.
Sudanese criminal law prohibits collaboration with non-state armed groups, yet it was written in a time when the state itself had not yet disintegrated. In a country fragmented by political and tribal loyalties, justice can easily turn into a mirror of hatred rather than a balance of rights. The problem lies not in the legal texts, but in the souls that enforce them.
Legally, Sudan faces a dual challenge. The national penal code, while explicit in criminalizing cooperation with armed groups, lacks the institutional capacity to enforce justice amid state collapse. International humanitarian law, on the other hand, assigns individual responsibility to anyone who orders, aids, finances, or tolerates crimes against civilians—as outlined in Articles 25 and 28 of the Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court. These provisions are not subject to limitation or political amnesty. Establishing hybrid courts—combining Sudanese judges and international experts, as in the Special Court for Sierra Leone—would thus provide a viable legal framework for impartial justice. Meanwhile, adopting a transitional justice mechanism aligned with the UN’s 2004 Principles on the Rule of Law and Justice in Post-Conflict Societies offers the most balanced path between accountability and reconciliation.
“Legal responsibility is not measured by affiliation but by action; international law does not judge tribes or groups, but individuals who chose to become part of the crime.”
Comparative experiences warn against blurring the line between law and politics. In Iraq after 2003, the “De-Baathification Law” devolved into collective revenge that tore the country apart. In Rwanda, community tribunals closed wounds but left scars of stigma. South Africa, by contrast, chose truth and reconciliation—truth before punishment, forgiveness before exclusion. Sudan today stands at the same crossroads: between punitive justice that destroys all, and transitional justice that might save the nation from itself.
Transitional justice does not mean forgetting; it means confronting the past courageously without falling into the trap of vengeance. It gives victims a voice, allows perpetrators to confess without absolution, and gives society a chance to redefine justice as repair, not retribution. Sudan must establish an independent Truth and Reconciliation Commission composed of national judges and international experts to distinguish between coerced participants and genuine perpetrators. A national compensation fund, financed by war-profiteering businessmen, should be created to redress victims—alongside rehabilitation and reintegration programs for low-level collaborators.
There can be no justice without a national army, and no national army without reform. Integrating non-culpable RSF members under civilian and international oversight is essential to rebuilding trust. Militias must be dismantled, not absorbed, for no state built on private armies can survive. Despite exhaustion and internal strain, the Sudanese Armed Forces remain the only institution capable of preserving national unity and preventing total collapse. The army is not the enemy of justice—it is its natural guardian.
Yet justice transcends the law; it is also a collective consciousness that must be rebuilt. In parts of Darfur and Khartoum, even those suspected of coerced collaboration face ostracism or humiliation. Sudan’s greatest danger today lies in a society turning into its own judge—where stigma replaces verdicts and shame becomes a collective sentence. The media, intellectuals, and religious leaders must therefore craft a new narrative: that justice is not revenge, but a path toward collective healing. A society that heals its wounds through vengeance only opens deeper wounds in its soul.
International law knows no gray zones: whoever planned, financed, or incited crimes against humanity bears responsibility. Yet applying this principle in Sudan must be inclusive and national in scope—not selective or politicized. A state that prosecutes one side while overlooking another merely reproduces the injustice that ignited the war.
Perhaps what Sudan needs most is not new courts but a new memory—one that holds space for both victims and those who fell into the gray zone between guilt and coercion. War kills bodies, but it also distorts memory, making people fear truth more than crime itself.
Justice built on hatred collapses the very state it seeks to save. And justice that ignores pain becomes another form of injustice. What Sudan needs today is a justice that looks forward without closing its eyes to the past—a justice that knows forgiveness is not forgetfulness, and punishment is not revenge. Nation-building begins not with exclusion, but with acknowledgment.
In the end, it is not war that destroys nations, but the way nations emerge from war. If Sudan does not confront its past with courage, it will remain ruled by it forever. Justice is not the sword of the victor but a faint light in a long tunnel—a light that keeps hope alive that, despite everything, Sudan can still rise from its ashes.
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Dr. Abdelnasser Solum Hamed
Senior Researcher & Director, Sudan and East Africa Program – FOX Sweden
Specialist in Crisis Management and Counter-Terrorism
“Justice built on hatred collapses the very state it seeks to save.”