The Army: Between the Quad’s Agenda and the National Narrative (4 of 4)

Dr Al-Dirdiri Mohamed Ahmed
Because of this war, time has reversed to the dawn of independence, and the people are re-gathering around what they once gathered for when Al-Azhari and Al-Mahjoub raised the flag. Because of this war, too, the army finds itself, for the first time, capable of converting that unprecedented unity into a sharp tool to restore the Independence Narrative, making this transition foundational. If it does not, and squanders this rare consensus, then the automatic fallback is the alternative narrative—one steeped in dependency, exclusion and despair, forged in distant capitals. One of the principal implications of choosing the Independence Narrative is civilian governance of the state; one of the principal implications of reverting to the alternative narrative is the militarisation of the state, which offers no escape from the army’s dominance entrenched by this war.
The army may neglect this national consensus and hesitate to restore the Independence Narrative—not because of any flaw in the narrative itself, but because it sees great difficulties in restoring civilian statehood. If civilian governance was lost when independence was new and the army inexperienced, how can it be regained now, after militarisation has deepened due to war? Before I illustrate how continuing militarisation is far more dangerous than returning to civilian rule, let us step back and reflect on why the civilian aspect of the Independence Narrative became mere ink on paper—and compare with the Indian experience to see how civil governance there became entrenched. While the Indian army has not once intervened in politics, our army is ever-present in the political scene. How did that come about?
One major reason for the divergent outcomes between the two countries is the difference in the qualifications of the civilian elites. The Indian elite at independence were highly educated—graduates of Oxford and Cambridge, of top colleges in Calcutta, Delhi and Madras. Because India had served as a training ground for the British imperial bureaucracy for more than a century, that elite understood its historical responsibility. It recognised the dangers of division, and so it united as we said. It knew the perils of political factionalism and kept itself detached from traditional entities and regional loyalties.
In contrast, the Sudanese elite did not enjoy the same level of qualification. Gordon Memorial College, established in 1902, was a technical and clerical school aimed at supplying the colonial administration with low-grade employees; senior posts remained with the British and Egyptians. It only became a university late in the 1940s, leaving insufficient time to form a highly trained elite. That limited-training elite placed itself under the control of the two contending sectarian leaders—hence, it is no surprise that by 17 November 1958 the Sudanese elite concluded, bitterly, that they were incapable of realising the dream of independence and that the army was the saviour. Once the first coup precedent was set, others followed easily.
The second reason for the difference is the nature of the two armies. At independence in 1947, India inherited a professional army with strong traditions. Britain, requiring a large and organised army to defend its Asian empire, developed the “Indian Army” as part of its imperial arsenal. Indian officers were trained at Sandhurst; from 1922, Indian officers were sent to Sandhurst; in 1932, Britain established the Indian Military Academy (IMA) at Dehradun on the Sandhurst model, so that Indian officers could be trained to British standards locally. By World War II, the Indian Army numbered about 2.5 million soldiers. Importantly, the IMA helped to create a professional military culture that kept the army out of politics—a factor that later supported India’s democratic stability.
In Sudan, the British regarded the territory as a “buffer zone”, not a major strategic asset like India. They did not trust the Sudanese militarisation as much as the Indian. Thus their policy was that Sudanese should be militarised only for internal security. When the Sudanese battalion under the Egyptian Army mutinied (the “White Flag” revolt), the British created the Sudan Defence Force in 1925— not to fight for the empire as in India, but to prevent “disorder”. Sudanese officers were barred from Sandhurst, and there was no local high-military academy like Dehradun. Officers were restricted in rank and command, limited to border patrol and tribal suppression, and not planning major operations. Yet despite weak training, the Sudanese soldier proved courageous in WWII in East and North Africa, and the British relied on the SDF.
In February 1953, Britain and Egypt signed the Self-Government Agreement, stipulating that the Sudan Defence Force would be placed under the newly formed Sudanese government, but would remain temporarily under Egyptian command until an elected national government was formed. That clause had a profound impact on Sudan’s future. In 1954, the Sudanese Army was annexed into the Egyptian General Command at a time when the movement of “Free Officers” in Egypt was at its peak. Sudanese officers in the 1950s were trained in Cairo and adopted the “political army” model. Very soon, the Sudanese army elite began to see itself as a political force, not as a professional neutral army. They developed secret organisations within the military. This sensitive history is seldom studied in depth but is essential to understanding Sudan’s political-military path.
Thus, the differences in elite training and army nature in India and Sudan led to distinct practices in the principle of civilian governance over the past seventy years. India honoured it; Sudan degraded it. But given the situation now after the war, rather than comparing Sudan’s army with India’s, it is more apt to compare it with Pakistan’s army. What is happening in Sudan today is more akin to Pakistan’s post-independence experience. There the army came to dominate not only power but the state itself.
After Pakistan split from India, many Hindu civil servants left, causing a collapse of the civil service. At the same time, the deaths of Mohammed Ali Jinnah in 1948 and Liaquat Ali Khan in 1951 left a huge leadership void. The military intervened and declared itself the guardian of Pakistan, not just the protector. Over time, the Pakistani army became the state, not just the army. It operated beyond defence and became the main institutional actor. It retained neutrality, nigh-impossible.
Likewise, Sudan’s army—having defended the nation when its foundations cracked—has become not only the defender but the administrator of the country. It allocates budget, controls revenues, determines foreign policy, negotiates with major powers (Russia, America), selects governors and ministers, without civilian oversight. It has developed self-financing networks via gold exports, customs revenues and affiliated companies and even invested in advanced manufacturing and artificial intelligence capabilities—all outside civilian control. If the army had not acted, Sudan may have collapsed or turned into a fiefdom of the Daqlo family orbiting the UAE. Because these realities have become public in the age of WhatsApp and Facebook, the army’s popularity has surged higher than ever since the founding of the Sudan Defence Force. Yet every action invites reaction. Two major risks now loom.
1. The “Army-State” Phenomenon
This refers to when the army becomes the first political power in the state, turning the state into an “Army-State” instead of the army serving the state. This is an existential threat to a modern constitutional state. The result is weakened civilian institutions, a co-opted judiciary, an army unaccountable for defence spending, using conflict to justify its dominance, and draining resources from social investment. Example: Pakistan’s military-nuclear state. A powerful army may guarantee short-term stability, but in the long term it undermines real national security by neglecting training, readiness, and governance.
2. The “Military Inc.” Phenomenon (in Sudan: “The Army Extends”)
Coined by Professor Ayesha Siddiqa (King’s College, London), “Military Inc.” is not merely corruption but the transformation of the military into an economic juggernaut that overshadows the civilian economy. This is distinct from defence-industry participation; “Military Inc.” occurs when the military dominates the entire economy, independently of the state budget. The army commands businesses, logistics, exports, mining, and services—forming a dominant autarkic actor. In Sudan’s case, the army stepped into gaps left by weak civil institutions during war—but if this model continues post-war, the army becomes the state’s economy, not its servant.
In sum: The army now stands at a crossroads.
It must choose to consolidate an “Army-State/Military-Inc.” model—what we said above are its dangers.
Or decide it is the army of the state, and that the regression to civilian governance must begin.
But how can civilian rule be restored after such entanglement of the military in politics, economics and governance? How can the army withdraw gracefully when its role has expanded far beyond defence and into directing the state? The path must be manual and phased, not abrupt.
For example: Portugal’s Carnation Revolution (1974) toppled Salazar; the army formed a joint military-civil government (MFA) temporarily, then introduced a sunset clause in the 1976 constitution limiting the military’s political role and enabling return to civilian control. The armed forces withdrew gradually under judicial oversight, and by the end of the 1980s, Portugal was a stable civilian democracy.
Sudan too requires constitutional safeguards: a sunrise clause (authorising temporary military intervention under specified conditions) and a sunset clause (involving an automatic expiry of military political powers). This offers a regulated method for the military to intervene when truly needed and to exit responsibly.
Conclusion
Dear reader,
Over four batches, we have journeyed through pages of our history—examining how we lost the shared belief we once held at independence, and how that loss left us with misery, humiliation and displacement. We saw how other nations either matured their Independence Narrative from the beginning, or rediscovered it after decline and rose again. We discovered how our turning to our army today—more than ever—is the most promising route to restoring our unified national narrative. We learned that missing this chance means sliding into the “Army-Protector / Democratic Transition” narrative promoted by the Quad in Washington today. That narrative is nothing but a reactive, divisive narrative that leads us into dependency rather than homegrown sovereignty. It pulls us into something worse than what we had before the war—because war, while opening the door for our national narrative to return, also opens the door to the abyss. Indeed, it opens a yawning pit without exit: the perils of “Army-State” and “Military Inc.” And unto God belongs the outcome.

Shortlink: https://sudanhorizon.com/?p=8339