The Dalgo Protest: Divine Wisdom and the Lessons of the Journey

Mustafa Abdelaziz Al-Batal

This is a moment that calls for caution. We know that silence is often safer and more secure than slips of speech. Yet we strive, asking God for safety, as we walk amid shards of glass in a moonless night.
We say, with God’s guidance: if the residents of Dalgo were not reassured by the government’s plan to relocate and settle thousands of Darfur’s “Zurga” refugees within the boundaries of their towns and villages, and if they called for the plan to be reconsidered—whatever their reasons or justifications—and chose peaceful protest and the submission of memoranda to the authorities as a means of expressing their reservations, then no blame or reproach should fall upon them.
There is nothing wrong with people declaring their demands, expressing them openly, and speaking out about what they perceive to affect their interests. What value is freedom if a person cannot muster the will to voice their opinion?
Let us therefore set aside the scattered absurdities surrounding the Dalgo protest—such as claims that “what happened in Dalgo is a national disgrace”—and other forms of political mockery and bullying. The true disgrace lies in imposing opinions, silencing voices, and confiscating people’s rights.
What puzzles me, however, is this: where are the United States, Europe, and international institutions that once clamoured, protested, and roared, demanding that the government agree to ceasefires and halt the war in order to care for the displaced? Why do they not step forward to host Darfur’s displaced populations, providing them with organised camps equipped with the means of dignified living, as they have done in numerous other places around the world?
Why has the international outcry faded, the tears dried up, and the self-proclaimed guardians of Darfur’s people disappeared? How did the displaced end up facing this short-sighted and undignified option—being crammed, men, women, and children, among local populations in the resource-poor towns and villages of northern Sudan, which can scarcely sustain their own livelihoods? Indeed, many residents themselves depend on remittances from sons and daughters working abroad.
There is an observation here—perhaps a lesson rich with wisdom—in this ordeal that has befallen our brothers and sisters from Darfur, most of whom belong to African tribes commonly referred to as “Zurga”. It would have sufficed—as it does for us in central and northern Sudan—to be identified simply as Sudanese, a term that itself signifies dark complexion. Yet some Arab groups in Darfur chose to distinguish themselves by assigning this label to those of African origin.
I continue here to speak specifically about the displaced from these tribes who have moved north due to the war. These communities—particularly the Zaghawa—played a prominent role in the emergence of rebel movements and in the escalation of Sudan’s civil war, under the patronage of the Sudan People’s Liberation Movement and its leader John Garang. He brought together members of these groups, provided them with revolutionary ideology, drafted their manifestos, and supplied them with arms. External support from Western countries, organisations, and Israel followed in succession.
Were it not for the rebellion and the fires ignited by these elites—under the banner of marginalisation and claims of unequal wealth distribution—Sudan might never have known what came to be called the Janjaweed, nor the later formation of the Rapid Support Forces. Their emergence was organically tied to those earlier movements, which effectively served as the midwife to their birth.
During the era of the late Prime Minister Sadiq al-Mahdi, the government established what became known as the “Murahileen” forces to protect Arab tribes from rebel attacks—forces that later evolved into the Janjaweed. As the conflict deepened and guerrilla warfare intensified, the situation escalated further, leading eventually to the formation of the RSF.
This was not unique to Sudan. Many countries facing similar conflicts have created parallel forces to counter insurgencies—such as Colombia and Sri Lanka. Even the United States formed and supported the “Awakening Councils” militias in Iraq to combat Al-Qaeda, and established various local militias in Afghanistan when conventional military approaches proved insufficient.
Why recall this history? We do so to reflect, to understand the chain of events and their consequences, and to see how accumulated trajectories lead to inevitable outcomes. The externally supported rebellions in Darfur have brought Sudan to its current difficult and precarious state.
From one perspective, there is a manifestation of divine wisdom in this unfolding reality: the very groups—or rather their elites—who once ignited the war in Darfur, claiming marginalisation and accusing northern Sudan of monopolising wealth, now find themselves displaced to that same northern region.
The culmination of this “wisdom” lies in the fact that the people of the North have shared what little they have, to the point where they themselves are left with insufficient food and shelter. Their circumstances have tightened, and they have had to apologise for being unable to host their guests for more than a few days. Thus, those once described as “Darfur’s revolutionaries” are now witnessing, with their own eyes, the true conditions of the North—far removed from the distorted narratives once promoted.
God fulfils His will, though most people do not realise it.
Of such a harsh yet instructive journey—laden with lessons and costly consequences—the Westerners say:
“Learning the hard way.”

Shortlink: https://sudanhorizon.com/?p=12723