Echoes of Al-Matama in Present-Day Sudan
In an infamous episode in July 1897, in Al-Matama on the banks of the River Nile, a number of Sudanese women tied their bodies together and threw themselves into the water to escape sexual violence from Mahdist soldiers. Over the decades, accounts of the mass suicide towards the end of the Second Mahdiya have been eulogised and passed down as emblematic of the horrors of war and injustice. And one hundred and twenty-seven years later, history has repeated itself. In October, Sudanese activists reported that dozens of women had drowned themselves in a river to avoid the marauding attacks by withdrawing Rapid Support Forces (RSF) in Gezira State.
Since the armed conflict in Sudan erupted in April 2023, rape and sexual violence have been weaponised and deployed by multiple belligerents amid the broader collapse of the country. While peripheral Darfurian women and communities have long experienced weaponised sexual violence, the outbreak of the conflict in Khartoum and its all-encompassing nature has drawn in previously unaffected strata of society. Mohamed Chande Othman, chair of the UN International Fact-Finding Mission for Sudan, upon the release of a report documenting sexual violence and other crimes, said that the "sheer scale of sexual violence... is staggering." And like many other conflicts, age has been no discriminator for sexual violence, with documented victims ranging from 8 to 75. The ongoing war has left none safe, with displacement numbers now topping 11 million-- predominantly women and children forced into overcrowded, underfunded camps with limited food aid. Moreover, the evisceration of social and medical support has further meant that survivors in need of medical assistance are unable to access it.
The horrors of the past months are a grim subsequent chapter to the 2018-2019 revolution, where women played a central role in toppling long-serving dictator Omar al-Bashir. Sudanese women were on the frontline in the 'neighbourhood committees' that organised the mass protests, demanding seismic political and societal change. Women's anger with the 'al-Ingaz' regime, particularly remnants of the Islamist social policies of the ideologue Hassan al-Turabi, as well as the rising food and fuel costs, was one of the most notable elements of the betrayed revolution. Images of Sudanese women taking the streets were widely shared, with one particular photo of a young Sudanese woman clothed in white and standing atop a car—dubbed the 'modern Kandaka'—becoming a symbol of resilience.
Even amidst this moment of hope, however, were weaponised elements of sexual violence, and clear signs that the dominant military establishment would not easily hand over the political-economic reigns of power. On 3 June 2019, after the deposition of al-Bashir, RSF paramilitaries attacked a peaceful sit-in in Khartoum, killing dozens of people and raping numerous women in a bid to break the spirit of the protestors. The next day, all military-civilian talks were cancelled as the transitional military coalition sought to consolidate its position. International and domestic outrage forced them back to the table, but it was a potent sign of the ease with which security forces would deploy mass violence against civilians for political purposes.
Returning to the current conflict, the mass suicide in October was once again the result of a seemingly deliberate policy by RSF command towards communities in central Sudan. It was the defection of RSF commander Abu Aqla Kikal to the Sudanese army that precipitated a massive wave of indiscriminate revenge attacks, including rape and sexual violence, against villages and towns to prevent further defections and resistance from his ethnic group. But the RSF is also a fundamentally predatory coalition of militias based on looting and economic extraction when new territory is taken. This works when it advances, but as the paramilitaries retreat back into areas largely stripped of their monetary value, as is currently the case, it has triggered fresh waves of violence targeting civilians. As the frontlines remain fluid, women have become repeatedly vulnerable to sexual violence from different forces, compounding their trauma.
Another shifting dynamic of the war is likely to place women in more direct danger in the coming months-- the 'militia-sization' of the conflict. Both the RSF and Sudanese Armed Forces (SAF) are coalitions, with varied and fluid command-and-control within each force. Much of the fighting being carried out under the SAF auspices is increasingly undertaken by Islamist militias such as the Al-Bara' ibn Malik Battalion and Eritrean-trained forces from eastern Sudan. The RSF meanwhile draws its strength from militias from Sahelian transnational tribes with distinct and overlapping interests. Further fragmentation of the conflict, which also opens the door for increased proxy activity, will make any peace process far harder, lengthening the violence and allowing dozens of militias to continue to act with near-total impunity.
The question of impunity for sexual violence remains a significant concern with the total breakdown of civilian protection alongside international disinterest. While there remains a degree of stigma in reporting these crimes, there are growing initiatives to monitor them, such as the Peace for Sudan Platform, which encompasses over 49 women's organisations. The initiative also advocates for women's participation in sustainable peacebuilding. The International Criminal Court (ICC) is currently collecting information on war crimes in Sudan, but there remains an absence of a robust legal framework to hold perpetrators accountable and provide justice to the women who suffer in silence. Documentation efforts are, therefore, not just about exposing the present horrors—they are about ensuring these crimes are not erased, and the voices of Sudanese women are heard in the pursuit of justice and accountability. The international community needs to be more forceful about finding ways of supporting grassroots women's initiatives in Sudan, many of which have emerged from the remnants of the 2018-2019 revolution.
Yet this war cannot be resolved by civilians alone; it is an internationalised proxy conflict being directed from multiple foreign capitals. But achieving lasting peace that can move beyond the cycles of conflict and violence in Sudan, and finding a more equitable future for women will depend on inclusive efforts to hammer out what a post-war 'Sudan' might look like. These questions and debates range from transitional justice to the form of political system the country should adopt. Tokenistic inclusion of women on the sidelines of dormant international peace processes does not cut it. One hundred and twenty-seven years on from the Al-Matama suicides, little has changed, with yet another conflict in Sudan resulting in yet more atrocities carried out against women and girls.
By the Horn Edition Team
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Apathy pervades the Djiboutian population. A week tomorrow, on April 10, the country will head to the polls, with President Ismaïl Omar Guelleh seeking a 6th— essentially uncontested — term in office. With his coronation inevitable, his family's dynastic rule over this rentier city-state will be extended once more. But in a region wracked by armed conflict and geopolitical contestation, the ageing Guelleh's capacity to manage the familial, ethnic, and regional fractures within and without grows ever more complicated. And Djibouti's apparent stability is no product of institutional strength, but rather an increasingly fractious balance of external rents and coercive control-- underpinned by geopolitical relevance.
In early 1987, the commander of the Sudanese People's Liberation Army/Movement (SPLA/M), John Garang, is reported to have issued a radio order, instructing his field officers to gather children to be dispatched to Ethiopia for military training. Garang's command conveyed the rebels' institutionalisation of a well-established practice of child soldiering; a dynamic that has been reproduced by virtually every major armed actor in Sudan-- and later South Sudan-- since independence. Today, as war has continued to ravage and metastasise across Sudan, few communities and children have been left untouched by the ruinous violence.
The history of the contemporary Horn of Africa is littered with abandoned and abrogated peace agreements-- as well as a handful of successes. A petri dish (or Pandora's box) of issues related to sovereignty, inter- and intra-state conflict, and the nature of the state itself, the region has also been a laboratory for numerous forms of peacemaking and dealmaking. Yet in such a fractured regional order, 'peace' and 'conflict' should not be considered binaries, but rather as part of a sliding scale, where civilians may be targeted during the active fighting in South Sudan or suffer as part of a 'negative peace' in Tigray. Today, with predatory peace in South Sudan, Sudan, and perhaps now Tigray, having given way to renewed violence on a broad scale, what is the nature and future of peacemaking in the Horn of Africa?
Once on the US-designated terrorist sanctions list, it is unsurprisingly rather difficult to come off it. And with the US designating the 'Sudanese Muslim Brotherhood' as terrorists, elements of Khartoum's military government may now have the dubious honour of being on it twice. First time out in 1993, Khartoum was deemed a US State Sponsor of Terror in the wake of a raft of jihadist plots linked to the Islamist authorities in Sudan. Nearly three decades later, and only after Sudan's partial ascension to the Abraham Accords, the title and punishing sanctions were lifted for the civilian-military transitional government. Today, though the warring Sudan is no longer home to an Osama bin Laden or Carlos the Jackal, a US labelling of 'terrorist' has returned to Khartoum.
At the end of February, Ethiopian PM Abiy Ahmed departed on a rather unusual visit to Baku, Azerbaijan. Slated as a meeting between two emerging powers, a focus on trade and investment frameworks was particularly emphasised by Foreign Minister Gedion Timotheos. More importantly, of course, was the signing of a comprehensive defence agreement by the two countries on 27 February. Spanning drone technology, armoured vehicles, artillery shell production, and air defence, the new agreement builds upon a framework from November 2025, which also included reference to refurbishing T-72 tanks, electronic warfare, and military-industrial manufacturing. Though war has not yet returned to Tigray as many feared, Abiy's vision of a militarised domestic —and regional —posture no doubt requires more hardware.
Earlier this month, dozens of heads of state and government gathered in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, for the 39th Ordinary Session of the Assembly of the African Union (AU). The theme of this summit prioritised water security and sanitation, discussing various ways to address these issues amid the unrelenting climate crisis. A worthy subject, no doubt, but the geopolitical backdrop of the summit remains unremittingly grim. Taking place in Addis —amid war looking ever more likely in Tigray —the gathering of leaders again served to uncomfortably emphasise the decline of the AU.
The Rapid Support Forces (RSF) in Sudan, the Puntland Maritime Police Force in Somalia, or the Liyu Police in Ethiopia are far from isolated curiosities or aberrations of the modern security state in the Horn of Africa. Quite the opposite; each example of these 'paramilitary groups' are part of a longer tale, a reflection of the persistent outsourcing and politicisation of violence in the region. With no state historically able to exercise a monopoly of force, paramilitaries and parallel security structures have routinely sprung from the elite to mediate their authority, 'coup-proof' their regimes, and to deliberately fragment coercive power. But historical variation within and between the litany of paramilitary forces in the Horn is vast, spanning a wide breadth of political aims and ambitions, territories, armaments, and compositions. And yet, the results are often decidedly mixed, as perhaps best evidenced by the destruction of Sudan's ongoing war.
One merely has to drive a few miles down the sweltering tarmac road past the town of Isiolo to encounter the Kenyan army. Small Kenyan Defence Forces (KDF) checkpoints and outposts litter these roads and others, playing several roles in Kenya's arid and semi-arid lands (ASALs) regions. Principal among them is, of course, interdicting the drips and drabs of Al-Shabaab militants infiltrating in small numbers from Somalia. But another prevalent role of past years – particularly since the 2020-2023 drought and ensuing intercommunal violence—has been the army's role in subduing the occurrence of pastoralist-based climate-accentuated conflict.
Dead men do not just walk in Juba — they can now be appointed to election task forces. In one of the most bizarre stories in recent memory, Salva Kiir's government selected Steward Sorobo Budia last week for a new task force comprised of signatories to South Sudan's long-collapsed 2018 peace agreement. Three days later, the president's office was forced to admit that Hon. Sorobo—a former politician from a negligible party —had died 6 years prior, making him unable to serve on the farcical "Leadership Body of the Parties Signatory to the R-ARCSS for Dialogue on Election-Related Matters."