War and the Critique of Political Assumptions: Is Federalism a Cure or a Disease?

By: Ahmed Abdel Malik Al-Da‘ak

“For the state to exist, it must wage war.” This is a condensed rendering of one of Hegel’s most controversial ideas about the emergence of the modern state. The phrase is not intended to glorify war or justify its tragedies, but rather to point to its historical role as a profound existential experience that reshapes collective consciousness in its entirety. War — particularly in the face of external aggression — can serve as a crucible of national unity, heightening the sense of shared destiny, elevating national belonging above tribal, regional or sectarian loyalties, and revealing the centrality of the state in providing security and safeguarding human dignity.

Yet this effect, significant as it may be, is not in itself sufficient to render war “constructive for nations”. Its foundational value lies in its capacity to generate an exceptional awareness of the historical moment — one in which intellectual paradigms are reassessed and entrenched political and social structures are transcended. At such moments, outcomes depend on the presence of an intellectual elite and political leadership capable of recognising the historical role placed upon them. The nation-state is not a natural entity that emerges spontaneously; it is an institutional construction, imaginative in essence, that must be consciously built by a thoughtful vanguard and enlightened political leadership — forged from the harsh experience of history.

Within this framework, there is an urgent need for a deep national dialogue about the country’s fundamental choices. The great historical experiments in nation-building, particularly in divided societies, did not arise by chance; they were the product of organised intellectual effort. One need only consider the American experience. It is difficult to imagine its eventual form without the philosophical and political work of the Founding Fathers and the Enlightenment effort undertaken by Hamilton, Madison, and Jay in The Federalist Papers — texts that articulated the theoretical and practical foundations of the state following the War of Independence. Sudan today stands at a similar historical juncture, requiring comparable intellectual labour to address foundational questions: What is the most suitable system of government — presidential, parliamentary, or hybrid? What should be the form of the state — unitary, federal, confederal, or some composite arrangement?

These questions are not new to Sudanese political thought. They have long been present in its discourse since before independence. However, the dynamics that led to independence were not sufficiently preoccupied with constructing a state capable of managing its internal contradictions and strengthening its national fabric. The focus at the time was directed towards confronting the colonial “other”, who — in Sartre’s famous phrase — was “hell”, obscuring deeper internal questions. The national elite treated the Sudanese state as a given, rather than as a project requiring careful institutional design. Even the strategic choice between unity with Egypt and separation from it was not grounded in geopolitical analysis or political economy, but reflected historical balances and alliances among sectarian forces, political elites and colonial actors.

It was within this context that federalism entered Sudanese political life — more as a contested demand between southern and northern elites than as a constructive vision of nationhood. In its early articulation, it was associated with a southern sense of distinctive identity and political autonomy, perhaps even a prelude to self-rule and eventual secession. At the same time, many in the northern elite viewed it as a step towards fragmentation. The debate over federalism, therefore, did not arise from an objective search for the most effective governing system, but from mutual historical anxieties. Over time, federalism became something of a political orthodoxy, making it difficult to propose more unifying alternatives, while progressively easier to advance more disintegrative formulas — from confederation to the right of self-determination, culminating in the secession of South Sudan and still invoked in some regions.

Re-examining this orthodoxy requires dismantling the assumptions underpinning it. The explicit assumption is that federalism curbs centralised power, ensures balanced development, and promotes peace. The implicit assumption is that the core problem lies in an overly strong and concentrated centre. Here lies the paradox. In the American case — so often cited — federalism emerged for precisely the opposite reason. It was a mechanism to strengthen central authority, through the voluntary cession of powers by thirteen relatively successful political units to a stronger federal government capable of regulating markets, harmonising trade policy, and reducing inter-state conflict. American federalism was thus a step towards greater centralisation, and federal authority has continued to expand.

In Sudan’s case, however, the problem is not an excessively strong centre requiring restraint, but a weak, institutionally fragile centre with limited governing capacity. The violence of the state and recurrent armed conflicts do not reflect strength but weakness. Weakness breeds violence; institutional fragility invites rebellion; and systemic weakness encourages actors to pursue their demands outside the state framework. Importing federalism as a remedy for centralisation in such a context is a flawed analogy — akin to prescribing treatment for obesity to a severely emaciated patient.

In a weak state, federalism may become a mechanism for deepening fragility and accelerating fragmentation. It can inflate local political structures, raise the cost of governance, exacerbate disparities in institutional capacity, and widen inequalities between regions — encouraging internal migration towards more resource-endowed or better-governed states. Most critically, federalism carries an institutional bias in favour of entrenching existing realities, even when dysfunctional. In a weak, nascent state, it may operate as a structural force for disintegration, as local centrifugal forces often outweigh central ones.

Moreover, successful federalism requires structural conditions that are not yet present in Sudan: a strong central government, vertically integrated national political parties, high-capacity local institutions, and a politically mature society capable of managing complex negotiations among levels of government. Indeed, one paradoxical condition of federal success is the presence of political elites capable of prioritising national over local interests. Federal systems are inherently complex — two levels of government operating within the same territory, each constitutionally autonomous within defined spheres. Such complexity can render implementation as problematic as the dilemmas federalism is meant to resolve.

Successful federal systems in practice rely on strong central authority in defence, security, and foreign policy, and often grant the centre exceptional powers during crises — as in Canada. Federal arrangements may accommodate cultural specificities or historical commitments, but they do not imply structural weakness at the core. Thus, while federalism may succeed in certain contexts, the fundamental question remains: is it the most appropriate model for a state undergoing foundational reconstruction and suffering from structural weakness?
Developmental history suggests that the early stages of state-building have typically been associated with strong, centralised states capable of mobilisation, planning, resource allocation, and the forging of a shared identity — from Jacobin France to South Korea, Taiwan, and Rwanda, despite their authoritarian characteristics. Conversely, federal experiments in fragile environments have often entrenched local elites and deepened divisions, as in Nigeria, where ethnically structured federalism reinforced rent-seeking competition and regional identities at the expense of national cohesion.

Sudan’s own experience over recent decades indicates that federal arrangements did not deliver stability. Instead, they inflated local political structures and institutionalised regionalised politics, while major development projects remained dependent on central effectiveness. This suggests that the issue extends beyond flawed implementation to the model’s suitability.

The post-war phase, therefore, demands intellectual courage — the willingness to revisit assumptions and open serious dialogue about the option of a unified state with a strong centre capable of enforcing fair and balanced central planning. Such a model may constitute a functional necessity for building a state capable of survival amid deep internal divisions, major developmental challenges, and a turbulent geopolitical environment.

The real challenge is not how to distribute weak authority, but how to build strong and just national authority. Power must be constructed and consolidated before it can be distributed.

This moment requires a centre capable of governance, functionally coherent institutions, and a national vision that transcends historical exhaustion towards a new foundational project.

Perhaps the present moment — with all its pain and sacrifice — offers a rare historical window to rethink the very question of state-building itself, moving beyond the simplistic formula of sharing power and wealth towards the conscious crafting of a nation’s future.

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