Sudan After the War: Politics in an Age of Exposed Elites

Ramadan Ahmed
There is little reason to believe that post-war Sudan will resemble the Sudan that preceded it. Wars, however devastating, do not pass through societies without leaving deep ruptures in their collective consciousness. They redraw the boundaries between citizens and authority, redefine the meaning of the state, and test the credibility of the elites who have long claimed to govern in the public’s name.
In Sudan’s case, this war has not only shattered infrastructure and displaced millions; it has also exposed the fragility of the political and moral foundations upon which authority once rested. What has collapsed is not merely concrete and steel, but the aura of inevitability and reverence that once shielded traditional elites from scrutiny.
One of the most defining features of post-war Sudan will be the decisive role of social media in shaping public opinion and, increasingly, political outcomes. These platforms are no longer peripheral arenas of commentary. They have become instruments of collective oversight—documenting contradictions, exposing impropriety, and dismantling carefully curated political images in real time.
In such an environment, no authority—civilian or military—will be able to govern through opacity and expect compliance. The controversy surrounding Sovereignty Council member Dr Salma Abdel Jabbar on 9 February 2026 offered a clear illustration of how swiftly public pressure can form and intensify online. It was not an isolated moment, but part of a broader pattern: officials today operate under continuous digital surveillance by an engaged and sceptical citizenry. Missteps are amplified instantly; evasions are dissected publicly.
This new reality makes governance more complex—particularly for the older political generation accustomed to crafting decisions behind closed doors and unveiling them as non-negotiable national necessities. The era of political paternalism is over. In an open and interactive public sphere, citizens compare promises with performance in real time and demand coherence between rhetoric and action.
The war has also stripped traditional elites of much of their symbolic authority. They failed to avert collapse, struggled to articulate viable solutions, and often appeared detached from the lived suffering of ordinary Sudanese. Political pedigree, historic credentials, and emotive oratory no longer suffice. Trust, once squandered, is not easily restored—especially among a public that has endured repeated betrayal.
Simultaneously, a new political consciousness has emerged—most visibly among younger Sudanese. It is characterised by scepticism rather than deference, questioning rather than obedience, and a refusal of inherited political guardianship. Though at times raw or impatient, this awareness marks a structural shift in society’s relationship with power. Legitimacy is no longer presumed; it must be earned through performance, transparency, and responsiveness—and it can be withdrawn just as quickly.
Post-war Sudan will not be easy to govern. Yet it may become more politically honest. It will be a state operating under sustained public scrutiny, where elites—whether recycled or newly ascendant—must adapt, reform, or yield space. Politics will have to evolve from transactional survivalism to accountable statecraft.
If Sudanese politics succeeds in internalising this culture of exposure and accountability, it could lay the foundations for a more resilient political order—one less dependent on myth, more grounded in institutional credibility. If it fails, the result will be continuous friction between an awakened society and an unreformed political class.
This moment, though fraught with tension, carries possibility. Out of the wreckage may emerge a Sudan that is less evasive, more self-aware, and incrementally closer to becoming a state that honours the sacrifices of its people—not through slogans, but through governance worthy of their endurance.

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