When Crisis Lives Within Us: Reflections on the Rise of Nations and the Downfall of the Self

By Dr Salah Daak

When one reflects on the vast disparity between wealthy nations and those burdened by poverty, it is essential to pause and ponder the roots of this divergence deeply. It is insufficient to attribute the gap merely to history or civilisational legacy. Countries such as Greece, India, and Egypt—among the most ancient civilisations in human history—continue to struggle economically and falter in certain aspects of development, despite possessing cultural and historical wealth spanning millennia. Conversely, newer nations such as Canada, Australia, New Zealand, and Singapore—whose modern political histories do not exceed a century and a half—have reached remarkable levels of prosperity, advancement, and stability. Clearly, the issue is not about age or historical depth.

Nor is the difference solely due to natural resources. Japan, for instance, is geographically limited, predominantly mountainous and unsuitable for agriculture or pastoralism, and it lacks major oil or mineral reserves. Yet it has become one of the world’s foremost economic powers—an industrial giant afloat, feeding global markets with innovation and precision. Switzerland, a small landlocked country that neither grows cocoa nor benefits from extensive agricultural seasons, yet it produces the world’s finest chocolate and exports premium dairy products globally. It also stands as a beacon of discipline, precision, and high-quality manufacturing—evidenced by its famed timepieces, crafted from otherwise unremarkable metal, selling for hundreds of thousands of dollars.

The issue, then, is not geography, history, resources, race, or even intellect. Many migrants once labelled as lazy or incompetent in their home countries become dynamic, productive contributors when placed in environments governed by law, opportunity, and order. This is evident in the role Sudanese migrants have played in the construction and development of Gulf nations—testified to by the citizens of those countries themselves. The real difference lies in collective behaviour, accumulated cultural values, and the principles instilled in individuals from an early age.

I recall my time leading Sudanese public engagement initiatives abroad. Whenever we asked individuals to contribute to a development project or pay even a small fee—say, one dollar—we would struggle immensely. Yet the same individuals, unprompted, might invite you to a restaurant and generously spend two hundred dollars in a single evening. On a personal level, we are extraordinarily generous—but at the public level, we are alarmingly frugal. There are historical and psychological reasons behind this contradiction.

In advanced societies, values are not merely slogans—they are ingrained practices embedded within the collective conscience. Honesty, integrity, respect for the law, precision, commitment to quality, punctuality, and a strong sense of civic duty—these are not enforced via reprimand, but lived by common sense. They flow through people as naturally as blood through veins. They are enacted without the need for enforcement, as they have become an integral part of an individual’s character and upbringing.

In contrast, a realistic look at Sudan’s situation reveals a tragedy that goes beyond governments and regime changes. It is a crisis of awareness and a lack of self-belief. Sudan is not a poor country—it is among the world’s richest in natural diversity, geographical abundance, and climatic generosity. It boasts the Nile, the world’s longest river, coursing through its lands from south to north, irrigating vast fertile plains. The image evokes that of the Mississippi River in the United States—though the Mississippi flows southward, while the Nile flows north, bringing life and agriculture. Yet Sudan’s cities and villages still suffer from thirst, as if the Nile had dried up.

Sudan experiences seasonal rains that rejuvenate the land and boasts multiple agricultural seasons, enabling a rich crop rotation. In the West, there are gum arabic and oilseed crops. Kordofan and the Nuhud region offer a powerful blend of agriculture and livestock, among the greatest in Africa. The White Nile, Darfur, and Kordofan produce cash crops such as cotton and sesame, yielding significant export revenues—if properly managed. Gold has recently re-emerged as a key economic player, although historically, Sudan, also known as the land of “Nubia”, has long been regarded as “The Land of Gold”. Some even claim that the town “Gold” (Al-Gold) gets its name from the English word “Gold”. Sudan is also blessed with citrus fruits, a variety of other fruits, and numerous minerals, along with a massive livestock sector—cattle, camels, sheep, and goats roaming rich pastures.

Despite all these blessings, Sudan remains underdeveloped and unstable. While other nations march forward with calm resolve, we are mired in conflict, division, and unrelenting internal battles. Our energies are consumed by endless disputes. Infrastructure crumbles, values erode, and hope dims. Streets are strewn with rubbish, honesty is absent in institutions, work ethic suffers from neglect, and patriotism seems to have faded from people’s hearts. Garbage piles up in our cities, and citizens pass by as if it were part of the scenery—some even adding to it without hesitation. No one seems to pause and ask: where are we heading with this behaviour?

The problem lies not in laws, resources, or foreign conspiracies—it lies within us: in our mindset, our daily habits, our sense of duty, and our collective awareness. We do not lack water, land, or opportunity. We lack honesty, discipline, and conscience. We lack the sense of national duty that would make someone ashamed to cheat, steal, or neglect their job. We lack the upbringing that instils respect for systems and the belief that nations are not built through speeches but through dedication, hard work, and selflessness.

This war presents us with an opportunity to learn from others. In Ethiopia, Egypt, Uganda, Saudi Arabia, Qatar, and the UAE—countries that have hosted Sudanese refugees—we see how their citizens protect their nations, infrastructure, and heritage. How many Sudanese have posed for photos in front of a beautiful building or a national monument abroad? Have we ever stopped to ask how those countries preserved what they have? We must love our country to preserve it—and to love it, we must first love one another.

We will not emerge from this darkness merely by changing governments or signing agreements. We will only emerge when we rebuild the Sudanese person from within—replanting values, awakening responsibility, and reigniting hope and love for our wounded homeland. We need a revolution of awareness, starting in our homes, taking root in our schools, enacted in our institutions, and embodied by our leaders. We need media that educates—not misleads. Mosques that unify—not divide. Teachers who instil discipline before instruction. We need a national project that is ethical before it is political or economic.

Because Sudan is worthy—because we still believe it can rise—we send out this heartfelt call to every patriot: let us re-examine ourselves, correct our behaviour, and restore our values. Let us start with ourselves. Let us not throw litter in the street, not steal minutes from our work, not accept injustice, nor prioritise favouritism over national duty. Let us be examples—not loud voices. Let us rise above petty quarrels and embrace action. Let us stop the fighting.

Let us light the candles of awareness in our homes, pass them on to those around us, and let them spread—perhaps they will illuminate this darkness. Let us build consciousness together—not because we are idealists, but because we are realists who believe nations rise by the strength of their character, effort, and dreams. Sudan does not lack resources; it lacks sincere intent. Sudan does not need more shouting or conflict—it needs a little silence, and a lot of work.

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